Death Dealer
by spyslikeus
Summary: Stakes rise when the machine gives the team five new numbers, further complicated by the fact that they are highly trained, ex-military and former gov. agents with tarnished pasts. Less than ethical occupations and dangerous outside interferences will blur the already convoluted picture. Are they perps or victims? Will the team find out in time and survive the answer? Please R
1. Chapter 1

POI Episode #3 Death Dealer

* * *

Summary: Stakes rise when the machine gives the team five new numbers - further complicated by the fact that they are highly trained ex-military and former gov. agents with tarnished pasts. Less than ethical occupations and strange outside interferences will dangerously blur the big picture. Are they perps or victims? Will the team find out in time and survive the answer? Please R&R

Background: Takes place a couple weeks after their last case in New Orleans, "Twisted." You don't need to read it first, but there was a bit that happened between Reese and Carter, on a personal level. Nothing physical, just acknowledgements of deeper feelings for each other and much confusion as to what to do with these revelations. And of course, Reese gets put through the physical ringer - as is always my MO. (moo-hoo-hoo-haa-haa-haaaa Love the wumpage.)

This story is complete, however not entirely edited yet, so will be posted as 'incomplete' for now. 40k+ words so far. I'll post as fast as I finish the work (between real life work LOL)

As always, and sadly so... I do not own any of these incredible characters... I just enjoy the chance to play with them.

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Death Dealer - Ch1

* * *

It was around 1am and the heavy mist continued its unrelenting goal to saturated every inch of the city... and then some. Small beads of water clung to the dark fibers of his wool coat, glistening under the play of the street lamps' glow. Reese flipped his damp coat collar up against the cutting breeze as he crossed the water slicked streets and made his way toward the sleazy bar.

He breathed deeply, smelling the city air. Not fresh, not particularly good, but he liked it none the less. It was home, and it was good to be back to work.

John Reese had long ago come to realize that he and boredom were not friends. They were a bad combination of two volatile ingredients never wise to mix. Add the irritation of confinement and slow healing wounds... and it was only a matter of time before something_ bad_ happened.

It had now been a little over two weeks since the brutal New Orléans case, most of the pain was gone, maybe a little stiff, still pulled, or twinged, but was ignorable. Fine. Which as Finch liked to point out, his idea of 'fine' didn't count.

He still had plenty of days he felt like crap, just didn't do anyone any good to acknowledging them, and he wasn't one for lounging around licking his wounds regardless. Any physical discomfort at this point was nothing compared to Finch's sidelong glares every time he moved wrong, or a groan eliciting a mantra of doctor's.

To make matters worse, Carter and Fusco had been picking up the slack when it came to the numbers. Thankfully there hadn't been too many, but enough to rub it in, and he was going nuts. There was no way he would have spent one more day '_resting' _as Finch would call it, or in_ 'lockup' _as he did_._

All this concern for his well being was hard for him to accept. Apparently though, it was something he _'had better get used to, since this job was, admittedly, not going to get any less physical...' _ Or Finch and Carter any less smothering... John mused.

Suffice to say, when the machine gave them a new number three days ago.., Reese was all too ready to hit the streets. It didn't matter whether they were the perp or victim. Which ever it turned out to be, was fine by him. He was just glad to have an outlet and was pretty damn sure, he needed this as much as the number needed him.

John quickly sidestepped, avoiding a man suddenly launched through the front doors of the bar.

_"_...I see your face again.., you won't recognize it!" The thick bouncer spat as he disappeared back inside.

Amusedly, John checked to make sure the man, now decorating the sidewalk, wasn't his guy and moved on. "Yup. Good to be back." Reese admitted to himself as shoved through the heavy, old double doors of the bar.

The stifling smell of stale smoke and vomit mingled with the wafting mustiness generated by unkept bodies in an unkept space. All mandatory elements to be considered one of the more, seedier bars in town.

Perpetually cloaked by his nonchalant demeanor, John's assessment of the surroundings was instantaneous and imperceptible, even to anyone that cared to look. Twelve patrons populated the small murky space. The disinterested bartender and out of shape bouncer had returned to guzzling beers at the front of the bar, five men sat along its length most likely rehashing old tales of grandeur made new by multiple drinks, and four beefy bikers played pool at the two tables. And at the back of the bar was his target.

Randy Norton sat in the farthest, darkest booth doing his best to fade into the sticky, red pleather seats. Their latest number was a thirty-eight year old _professional _criminal - if you could call him that. Wrong-place, wrong-time arrests, double crosses, and botched robberies, resulted in him being in prison more than he'd been out his adult life.

The last four, however, something changed. It seemed as if he'd made an attempt to straighten up; he even held down a legitimate construction job, until more bad luck had him recently laid off.

If this guy didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all. Reese realized. But whether by design or ignorance, the results could be detrimental, easily pushing someone like Randy to the end of his rope and leaving a desperate, potentially dangerous and unpredictable man.

Randy's number had come up three days ago and Reese had been following him round the clock. It was the unknown scenario that most put Reese on guard. The guy could easily be a perp, victim, or both, making everyone Randy came into contact with a potential suspect or victim.

"Mr. Reese how's Mr. Norton doing?" Finch's voice chimed over his earpiece.

"Still shockingly upright. In three days, he hasn't slept or eaten; I haven't seen any evidence of drug use, so what ever's driving this guy is consuming. I suspect it involves whatever's in his backpack. He's been clutching it like his life depends on it."

"How are you holding up?" Finch asked.

"Thought about slipping Randy a tranquilizer or two, so we can both get some sleep, but otherwise I'm fine."

"Perhaps you should put Fusco on him and get some rest Mr. Reese. This isn't exactly a good receipt for your recuperation."

Reese could only roll his eyes. Finch's ability to even mother him over the phone was irritating, but he knew he meant well, so bite back the snarky response. "I'll call Fusco in the morning, if the situation doesn't become clear tonight, Finch."

The words had barely been uttered when Reese's phone chirped with an incoming text to Norton's phone.

PARKING LOT W $ OR U NEVER SEE HER AGAIN

"You get that Finch? I'd say that's pretty clear." Reese waiting for Randy to exit the bar before smoothly following at a cautious distance. "See if you can find out who the _'she' _is."

* * *

A faded, crimson sedan was parked along the cyclone fence to the back of the parking lot and just outside the safety of any light. It was backed in, suggesting an intended quick get away.

Behind a nearby car, John couldn't tell much. The cover of night and black tinted windows prevented any guess as to the car's occupants, until a shadowed figure emerged from the driver's side. A heavy hooded coat obscured any discernible features, but Norton walked a straight shot through the parking lot without hesitation. He was expecting this.

John stuck to the shadows staying close to Randy, until he came to an abrupt stop about fifteen feet from the mystery person.

"You have the money?" A female voice ground out.

"Mary, you bitch! Where is she! How could you do this? She's all I have; the only good thing in my life! I'll kill you if you've hurt her!" With shaky hands, Randy hugged the backpack tightly to his chest as if it somehow embodied the '_she,'_ he was referring to.

The women flipped down her hood. "You'll kill me? Ha! You're the biggest pussy I know Randy!" It was hard estimating the woman' true age. Her face was dry, grayish, and sickly thin with the dull, sunken eyes of too many drug devoted years. Her twitchy excitement increased as she barked an order over her shoulder. "Tony, Danny!"

Two car doors opened. The old suspension groaned with relief as two hulking, muscle-bound goons stepped clear. Each fondled a weapon while sporting grins drunk with anticipation. The first, a gruff, tower of a man in his mid thirties, repeatedly slapped a crowbar across his palm and leered at Norton. The second man, resembling a short, solid brick wall, moved forward flying a double-edged bali-song blade. Impressive speed, Reese had to acknowledge.

The woman snarled a smile. "Get the backpack!"

"No get back! Not until I see her! Where is she?" Norton's voice had climbed a few shaking octaves.

"Finch, the party just grew by three - plus. Time to crash it." Reese stepped from behind a nearby van, walking straight passed a startled Randy, to intercept the steroid twins. "Fellas. Mind if I join the party?"

"Who the hell is the suit?" One of the men questioned wearing a puzzled expression.

"Just someone that believes in evening the odds." Reese smiled.

"Fuck Tony, take him out!"

The tank of a man, Reese now knew as Tony, pounded toward him. "Don't look even to me!" He danced the knife back and forth, locking eyes with Reese just before rushing a lashing swipe at John's stomach.

Reese jumped back to avoid the sailing blade. Sure, he could easily have pulled his gun and ended the cocky display, but he'd been itching for a release for weeks and things were just getting fun. John parried the knife hand with his right and cracked Tony with a left upper cut. Though the punch was well placed it had little effect against the neanderthal's jaw, causing only the slightest stagger before the goon refocused.

"Mr Reese?" John paused, threateningly holding his finger up in a, _'wait a minute,' _motion. He thoroughly enjoyed the look of dumbstruck surprise. "Yes Finch?"

"Randy Norton has a four-year old daughter, Sophie, with a Mary Elliot. They've had an on again, off again relationship for the past five years."

"Quit screwing around! Finish him!" Danny growled, spurring his companion into action.

"Finch.., hold on a minute." Reese calmly requested and ducked another swing of the blade.

Tony's frustration grew with Reese's obvious toying disinterested and unthreatened attitude. "You're dead asshole!" With that colorful war cry, Tony lunged, putting all his meaty bulk behind the outstretched blade. John turned sideways, grabbing the extended arm with both hands and shoved it down, hard, across his knee and snapping the elbow. Reese silenced Tony's wild screams with hand chop to base of his skull.

"Sorry Finch.., go on."

Finch continued unfazed. "Miss Elliot has an unsettling history of drug abuse, violent crimes and has been turned into child services on a number of occasions. It would seem Mr. Norton may have been trying to clean up his life, these past four years, because of his daughter."

"You son of bitch!" Danny yelled, wasting no time stepping in to avenge his fallen pal. He swung the crowbar hard, high and fast, toward John's head.

Reese ducked. "Finch, they're ransoming his daughter." He explained after dodging, yet another swing. He was done playing; a child's life was at stake. "I like my head... where it is!" He hissed landing a powerful kick to Danny's stomach. "Thanks."

The man breathlessly doubled over, iron forgotten with a clatter, in favor of using both arms to clutch his now hitching lungs. Reese was pissed and worried about finding the little girl. "Time to end this." A downward step chopped the tree-trunk of man to the ground with the sickening snap of his knee. Even with little air in the man's lungs he managed a howling cry as he hit the wet asphalt with a meaty spatter.

Mary Elliot's previous stance of authority had been progressively shrinking to a less confident cower. Reese set her in his sights, closing the distance in two striding steps. "Now. You're gonna tell me what you did with his little girl." His soft voice boomed with dangerous intent.

The haggard woman spat shaking words of contempt at John. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I know cops and you ain't one. You got no business fucking with my deal. This bastard owes me!" She started forward, dumbly choosing to take a swing at Reese. He easily caught her weak, bony fist, spinning it around to her back as he shoved her against the car.

John leaned in behind her ear and whispered. "If you don't want me to break your arm... you'll tell me what you did with Sophie. And before you impress me again with your amazing wit, you were right... I'm **not** a cop."

Fear ghosted across Eliot's twisting face. "Ahhhh! You're hurting me. Ok, ok. Little bitch is in the trunk! She's in the trunk! Stop! But the lock's broke. Ahhh!" Reese ignored her whining and increased the pressure just a little more. It took all of his control not to break her arm - right then and there.

"Randy." Reese turned to the, shell-shocked, man staring at him. "You mind watching your ex for a moment? If she moves, just pull up until you hear a snap." He couldn't help himself. The description wasn't meant for Mr. Norton as much as to terrify the scum pinned to the car.

Leaving Randy holding his ex, John collected the crowbar still laying between the disabled pile of muscle on the ground. Reese expected most of the lowlifes he dealt with to suffer from some form of '_stupid' _bubbling up from the human condition. He could deal with that, but when that stupidity involved an innocent child... that's where he drew the line. That was the part of his job he couldn't accept.

The teasing mist had finally turned to rain, causing the men's blood to streak the asphalt as Reese stepped around them. His coat was already damp and quick soaking through, adding to the cold chill of dread as he headed for the, too silent, trunk and tapped his earwig.

John hadn't seen her in two weeks. They'd only spoken a couple times since getting back from New Orléans, and then only clipped, to-the-point check-ins. He was avoiding her. He knew it, wasn't proud of himself, but still felt so conflicted and tethered by his fears. Fears for Carter's safety.

Sometimes he imagined the dark shadows that followed him, crawling up from their recesses, sneering, as they hurt her because of him. It wasn't a fear he could simply ignore. But ignoring her wasn't the answer either.

"Hey Carter... Sorry, I know it's late..."


	2. Chapter 2

In the last weeks, they'd shared a few phone calls, but nothing more. Nothing, since things got... complicated. She knew part of it was Finch hiding him away to heal; he always became so protective when John was injured. Compromised. But the other part, the part she worried about, was that John might be trying to pull pulling away after the recent admission of her feelings.

But Carter quickly swallowed her welling emotions after hearing the seriousness in his voice. "John. What's wrong?"

He didn't answer her right away, instead the line filled with the cryptic noises of clanking metal, grunts of effort, and then a loud, tinny pop. "John?"

The disheartening sounds had her holster and badge clipped back in place, keys in-hand and moving toward her door. But it was the next unexpected series of sounds that halted those movements. The most tenderly whispered words, laced with the deeply soothing baritone of comfort and love, floated across the line, touching her soul.

"Shhhh... baby don't cry, it's ok now. I'm here for you, to help you. You're Daddy's right over here sweetheart. Shhhh... it's ok Sophie." John released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when the trunk popped open and twin, tear-glazed, green eyes blinked against the sudden light. He gently scooped the frightened little girl into his arms, glad that she seemed to instinctively know he was not a threat. Children were closed his eyes and pressed his check to her head, wishing he could have shielded her from what had just happened.

"Sorry Carter.., everything's ok now. But, I have a situation here that could use your... sensitivities."

It took her a moment to catch up to her racing thoughts. His gentleness had overwhelmed, then amazed her, for a split second she imagined being on the received end of that enveloping warmth. Shaking herself, she could now clearly hear the sniffling weep of what sounded like a little child. "Text me the address. I'm on my way."

* * *

"Daddy!" Still protectively cradling the little girl in his arms, Reese walked toward an absolutely emotional Randy Norton.

John allowed Sophie to slide into her father's anxious arms, unconsciously pulling one arm to his aggravated injuries and acutely aware of the lost contact. Not for the first time he wondered about their sweet Layla, then turned to resumed the vice-grip on Miss Elliot's arm - not necessary, but oh so satisfying.

"How did you know?" Randy looked at Reese and kissed the top of Sophie's head, happily buried in his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you for saving my little girl... and me. Who you are you?"

"Just someone that wants to make sure you stay out of trouble and don't miss your second chance. Take good care of her. She'll need a real father, a role model. And Mr. Norton.. - I will, be watching." Reese's ominously veiled threat garnered a paling swallow and vigorously vowed nod. "Start by getting her checked out at a hospital. She might be dehydrated."

"Yes, yes... Thank you so much."

"Mr Reese. I sent Mr. Norton a text; the information for his new construction job. He can start next week."

"That was nice of you Harold. Didn't know social worker was another of your assumed titles."

Finch ignored Reese's comment. "Also... I hate to impose upon you further, I know you haven't rested in days and are still wrapping things up there, but I think it's advisable that you come to the library as soon as you're able."

Finch's uncharacteristically rattled tone was unsettling to say the least, that alone was enough to chase away his creeping fatigue. "New number Finch?"

"You could say that."

"Carter's on her way to deal with Miss Elliot. I'll be there soon as I can." Reese finished.

"I emailed the information about Miss Elliot to the Detective's computer. There should be enough evidence of child abuse, abandonment, and now kidnapping to get her out of Sophie and Randy's lives for good." Finch added.

* * *

Carter honestly had no idea what she would see as she pulled into the parking lot. She studied the exchange between John and the man utterly clinging to a little girl, not more than five years old.

She knew the look on the man's face. That look, of immeasurable relief and joy. That look, that John had put on her face when he rescued and returned her baby to her.

"Detective." His sexy voice was like a shot of smooth brandy. She couldn't help the melting heat caused just by hearing it. "Mr. Norton here, was just promising to take good care of his daughter."

Carter suspiciously eyed Randy's impish demeanor. "Glad to hear it." She pointedly stated, quickly adopting John's attitude and did her best not to be distracted by the typical 'Reese body count' littering the ground, and waited for Mr. Norton to move out of earshot.

"Back to work I see? Definitely looks like you're feeling better." She inspected the obviously broken perps, relieved they were still breathing, then locked onto the pathetic tweaker in John's grip.

"Carter. Meet Mary Elliot... deadbeat mom of the year. Finch sent you the details, but the short version..? Mary tried ransoming that little girl's life against her own father, locking her in the trunk, until she got what she wanted."

John literally saw Carter bristle with a boiling display of protective fury. That's why he'd called her and not Fusco. Normally he didn't like disrupting her nights. Fusco on the other hand... he preferred it.

"The trunk?! Oh - hell no!" Carter roughly yanked Mary's wrist from John, slapping cuffs in place. "Soon, you're gonna know what it feels like to be locked up in a small space. - for a long... long time, if I have anything to say about it. Get in the car! You have the right to remain silent..."

John smiled, enjoying watching Carter manhandle Miss Eliot and listening to the familiar song of Joss reciting the Miranda rights. Only she cold make it sound beautiful and always poetic. Mary Elliot would get what she deserved. "Carter, I'm sorry, but I have to get back." He called as she slammed the cruiser's door.

"John, wait." She was getting pretty good at reading him and he seemed... distracted. "What's going on?" It was a loaded question - she knew, but she'd let him decide how to interpret it. If he wasn't ready, pushing him on the subject of their feelings would only shove him farther away... She desperately wanted to know. Something. Anything. But she vowed she would wait for his move.

"A new number I think? But somethings got Finch worried. If I'm not mistaken that was his version of 'A call to arms.'"

She tensed with her darkening thoughts, unable to stop the flood of nightmarish details of their last case. "Guess thinking we could catch our breath was a vain hope. Hell, I'd just settle for something a less epic!" She humorlessly laughed.

"I know, I'm sorry Carter. I have no idea what it's about this time, but you know there's no shortage of evil or people needing help." He surprised himself as he involuntarily stepping closer to her, but did manage to halt his hand from reaching out. "I'm also sorry you've had to pick up the slack these past weeks." Dammit. That's not what he wanted to say... He wanted to tell her he'd missed her, that he was sorry they hadn't seen each other, or had a chance to process what happened. Idiot.

Every fiber of Carter's being vibrated as if he'd strummed the very cords her soul. How could the simple nearness of this man do this to her? Any more would be unimaginable.

She was so beautiful. So strong. Flawless. Suddenly the need to touch her was overwhelming. He bent in a slow, questioning decent, cupping her cheek with his hand. An internal battler raged; one side fighting to keep him back and the other pushing for more. He met her skin with the softest whisper of a touch, a mere hint alluding to the power and passion held so tightly in check by his complicated fears and a marred past.

It felt like a small victory to maintain her composure and respond. "Don't worry about it." She whispered. Just the smallest contact had her hopelessly surrendered to however much he would share.

With a gentle stroke of his thumb, he moved away. But the look of longing still burned in his eyes, easing her doubts that he in fact, wanted her as much as she wanted him. And for now.., that would be enough. "Hey. Do me favor. Let me know what new hell-spawn we're up against. Like to have more time to prepare stakes and crosses."

John laughed, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood, but he worried she may not be far off - again. "Promise."

* * *

Notes* I love the sexual tension Reese and Carter share, as well as their conflicted relationship dynamic... Though this is not a love story, they do deal with some questions regarding it. At least until the situation at hand, takes their complete focus.


	3. Chapter 3

ch3

* * *

Five faces, five lives, five new numbers stared back at Finch from their innocuous position taped across the display board. He thought they'd run the gamut when it came to the complexities and number of irrelevants the machine would give them at one time, but obviously he was wrong.

They were facing multiple numbers, all ex-soldiers with elite military training, and by initial appearances, likely spread across three countries. Multiple number situations, albeit difficult, was not Finch's biggest worry. The fear of such highly trained individuals potentially being co-conspiring perpetrators, was.

Mr. Reese would be dealing with people very similarly trained and equal to his level of skill. If they ended up being the perpetrators, it could prove to be a gravely damaging situation. How they would handle the logistics of such distant locations was another distinct difficulty.

Finch massaged his temples against the developing headache when a shoe scuff startled him. "Oh! Mr. Reese... I didn't hear you."

Reese frowned with suspicious concern. Finch was always able to detect and ruin a perfectly executed and stealthy entrance. In this case however, he'd been far from stealthy and too tired to care, so for Finch not to have noticed him, confirmed the depth to which he was distracted. Something _was _up. "Finch, one of your computers blow a fuse?" But a flashing glance at their board answered the real question.

"Perhaps Mr. Reese. The machine has just given us five new numbers." Finch continued staring at the board.

"Five... but it's done that before. Not since the Dons, but not unheard of. What's got you so uptight about this one?" He walked closer to study the faces.

"Well to be quite honest, the fact that they all share extensive military and specialty training - very similar to yours I might add, - and that they are likely spread across three countries."

Reese just stood there, looking at Harold with an unreadable expression as he spoke in a controlled tone. "How extensive? And _what_ countries?"

"I've only just begun to compile the details, and their recent footprints are light, but here is what I've found so far." Finch returned to his desk, grabbing the pile of papers from its edge and began taping them bellow each photo.

"Sandra Stark started her hazardous career as an Army Combat Engineer and Demolitions Expert; she did that for ten years before joining the FBI's weapons trafficking division from which she was later fired due to her suspected involvement in the disappearance of seized explosives. She was not convicted due to lack of evidence. Her last known address was in Washington D.C.

Dan Erinson was a Marine, part of the Special Operations Team with advanced training in weapons employment. In 2007 his Battalion was deployed to Afghanistan and after a questionable attack left excessive civilian casualties, he disappeared and was presumed dead. Obviously not, since the machine gave us his number.

Hugh Sinclair moved through the ranks of the British Special Forces, until being recruited into MI6's UK Special Forces Dept." Finch paused to work a kink in his shoulder. "Sinclair was later terminated. They cited unsanctioned killings as the reason, though I find no further details. I have yet to locate him."

Martin Boyd was a Navy SEAL Demolitions and Weapons specialist. After being accused of prematurely detonating a civilian populated village in Cambodia, he was dishonorably discharged, but managed to escape before his trial. Mexico, China and Columbia are just the most recent locations I've tracked him to.

Petros Trentidov, now Peter Trent, was a Russian Spetsnaz Officer with the Vega Unit, he defected to Canada eight years ago and currently runs a private security firm in Toronto. But I'm not so sure he's given up his old life completely."

"Any ideas why the machine gave us their numbers?"

"With backgrounds like that, it could be any of a million reasons. Until I can piece together a more detailed picture, I'm afraid not."

"And how am I.., we, supposed to track them across the globe? Just out of New York, rules out Carter and Fusco's involvement. I thought the machine only gives us numbers that don't pose a national threat?" Reese ran a hand through his hair and began a slow prowling pace in front of their board trying to tie anything together.

"You are correct Mr. Reese, which means the threat is on a more personal basis. The machine would not have given them to us otherwise."

"Well, first we need to figure out where they are and if they have any connections to each other. Is one trying to kill the rest? Are they planning something separately? Together? Or are they all in danger by an outside source?" John could feel the growing frustration - the combination of possible scenarios was endless without knowing more.

"I'm running multiple searches now." Though John hid it well, Finch could tell he was exhausted. "This is going to take some time, Mr. Reese. I'm sure we'll have more in a couple hours. Perhaps you should try to get some rest in the back room? I'll wake you when I have something."

Those few short steps to collapsing on the couch would be easy, but he had to take care of something first. "No, just call me soon as you do."

* * *

Hugh Sinclair sat in his high-rise office nursing a tumbler of scotch in the dark. He stared passed the coded message on his computer screen and admired the shimmering New York lights bellow. Though it was late, the streets were still filled with life. "City that never sleeps..." He mumbled and swallowed another drink. He couldn't sleep either, too exhilarated by the up coming Event and too irritated by the old memories it reawakened.

It was a private, underground Event that reminded him of the special development branch of MI6. So many innovations and toys of the trade made his mouth water with anticipation, and yet at the same time made him miss his former life - despite how they'd betrayed him.

Though his current mercenary, moonlighting endeavors kept him quit busy, wealthy and satisfied; there was still this underlying longing for that greater purpose. Serving King and Country had given him that.

He cursed his damnable, retrospective weakness. "Such was life!" He leaned forward and sent the encrypted RSVP. "Inevitably, everyone will stab you in the back as they turn theirs." He drained his glass. "All the more reason to thoroughly embrace and exploit this opportunity to the fullest."

* * *

Reese left the library with every intention of heading home then calling Carter. She hadn't said much, but he knew he'd screwed up. He at least owed her a face to face visit.

By the time he'd figured out what to say, vetoed it, and came up with something else, he was parked across from Carter's brownstone.

He had nothing, so he sat there, feeling at a loss as he debated the situation his confusion had caused. No sleep for 72 hours didn't help either, but it was the fact that he'd all but avoided Carter after getting back from New Orléans that made this so much harder.

Maybe he should go? Just call? Maybe wait until tomorrow? Maybe break-in for old-time sake? Yeah that would go over real well, but he couldn't help the mischievous grin the thought caused. He did miss pushing her buttons, honestly missed less complication.., but it was too late for that.

Still, he'd already ruined enough of her night as is was. She had likely just gotten home from processing Miss Elliot and the steroid twins, and was perhaps already in bed. Tempting.Dammit John! He rubbed his eyes, berating himself for that train of thought.

John laid his head back, allowing his eyes to drift closed for just a minute. He knew what he wanted, why he'd come. He wanted to see her, walk up those stairs, hold her in his arms, and wordlessly cast away all doubts and fears that had prevented him from talking to her in the first place, but it wasn't that simple.

The stress of these five new numbers added to already muddied waters, fatigue and one hell of a head ache. He was sure his judgement was clouded and didn't know if his being here would make things better or worse.

He'd just call her tomorrow.

A knock on his widow had his gun reflexively drawn and leveled before he realized he'd moved. Or who it was.

Cater jumped, both hands held up in apologetic shock. "What the hell!" She mouthed through the closed window.

Dammit. She must have seen him from her window. Okay, so not asleep and always aware of her surroundings. He loved that.

The street light filtered down through the leafless trees, dancing shadows across her face. John could see the worry in her eyes and felt bad for being the one to cause it, and yet he couldn't help the racing excitement of seeing her. He rolled the window down. "Hey Carter."

"John? What are you doing? I saw you pull up, but when you didn't get out...I was... I figured I'd check on you."

He always managed to screw things up. "Sorry. That wasn't my intention. It's late, I should have just called. Wanted to make sure things went ok and... Sorry."

He was rambling and she could tell, not saying what was really on his mind. Usually he was better at masking that, but tonight his exhaustion let her see right through him. "Hey, don't worry about it. I was up, just going over some files. Why don't you come in, get out of the wet cold and tell me what was up with Finch." She expected a flirtatious response, but instead just got a tired grin. Still, a_ sexy-ass _grin. Carter admitted.

Now that he was at her door, he felt a twinge of apprehension. The last time he passed through her door, she'd brought him here to care for him after he'd been shot. Now here he was, what? What was he going to say? Tell her everything was alright? Let her down easy? Avoid the elephant in the room and say nothing? God - he shouldn't be here.

Carter saw the hesitance and look on his face. "John its ok, Taylor's at his grandma's so we don't have to be quiet." Crap. That came out so wrong... She tried to look completely innocent, hoping he hadn't heard her.

He had. "Why... Carter? We doing something noisy?" How many times had he fantasized about making her scream his name in the throes of passion.He quickly reined in the thought.

There it was. The opportunistic 'Dog.' The John Reese she expected. The old John. She stifled a nervous giggle as she sat on the couch issuing a hand motion for him to join her.

He didn't move right away; if he sat down, he wouldn't make it back out. "I can't stay long."

She pursed her lips. "Just sit down before you fall down, and tell me what happened with Finch?"

Reese took a deep breath and sat on the other end. "We have five new names, but not your regular, run-of-the-mill civilians. Finch is still gathering the details, but what we know so far is that all of them worked for elite branches of the military and government with advanced specialty training. And not just for the US government either..," Reese slowly blinked processing the information. "... Russia and the UK as well. We'll know more in a couple hours."

"What do you mean worked? What are they doing now?"

"Just that. They've all either been fired or gotten dishonorable's. One even faked death to avoid prison. Not sure what their up to currently, Finch is looking into that too."

"Shit. Any idea what's going on? Cuz' these guys don't sound very ethical. This could get real bad, real fast, if they're involved in something." She paused, realizing the implications of dealing with other governments. "John? What if they're overseas? Have your sources sent you to other countries before? Or are they involved in something here?" When she didn't get a response, she leaned forward and caught him staring off. "John?"

"Sorry. No, our cases have all been in the states, primarily in New York. Finch is trying to find them now." John met Carter's eyes. "Carter listen... about New Orléans and since we've been back. I'm sorry we haven't had the time to deal with things. I'm not sure I can... Yet."

Carter calmly swallowed. "I told you how I felt because I had to be true to myself, not to force you to. I know how you feel and that's all I need right now. I get what you're worried about. Really, I do. So just know, I'm here... when you're ready. Okay."

John had expected anger, hurt, pain, something; he was NOT expecting understanding and patience. God she never failed to amaze him. He was at a loss for words. "I'm trying."

Joss had always felt the distance John kept from people. It was a safety mechanism she understood more than he knew, but she also felt that distance shrinking between them. Sometimes he'd drop his guard and let her in, if only for fleeting, but amazing moments. That's what would keep her waiting. And hoping. "It's late, why don't you just stay. You look worn out and you could use the driving time to sleep instead."

Reese was on the verge of protesting when Carter continued. "Listen. No strings. You can crash on the couch. It's pretty comfortable."

At 2:05 am, he had to admit it was a tempting offer, but whether or not it was a good idea, was a different story. Unfortunately she was right, he was beyond tired and already proved incapable of deciding what was, and wasn't, a good idea. "At least this time I won't bleed all over it." He gave in.


	4. Chapter 4

It was 2:05 am by the time Sandra Stark got into New York, and she was pissed. She'd paid enough tolls to own the damn roads from Washington D.C. Back when she still worked for the FBI, the tolls weren't an issue; they bypassed all the pain-in-the-ass systems or had other creative means of circumventing things altogether. But things were different now.

Now she was on her owe, given no choice but to work the system and do what she did best. The bastards had ruined her reputation and any chance at ever getting any legit work again. "Assholes!" It had been a frame job, and someday, she'd find the person responsible and get her 'eye for an eye.' She chewed on the details, even formulated a few quick plans of what she would do, but decided that wasn't big enough. "Fuck that... I should just say 'hi' to all the boys back at the Hoover building, give the FBI something to think about."

But Sandra had never been one for indiscriminate killing. No, she'd wait and find the ones behind it and get them. Maybe some fantastic, new doodad would make that an easier task. This year's Event would surely have some amazing products she couldn't even conceive of. Sandra hoped for some new explosive technologies, something easily concealed, smuggled, and detonated without so much as a whisper of evidence left behind.

Two years ago, the 'Sonic Quake' charges had her blown away. She brought down the house with those puppies. Literally. She laughed at her own puns. Truly, they ended up earning her a lot of business, happy clients and one hell of a great rep. in the Structural Insurance biz.

What would they have this year? She could hardly wait.

Her grin of amusement was still spread across her face as Sandra pulled into the underground parking structure of the Waldorf=Astoria. Tonight, I'm gonna pamper herself. She thought as the hotel valet unloaded her luggage.

Soon, the knots from the four-hour drive would melt away after a bubble bath in her luxurious suite, then she'd fall asleep wrapped in satin sheets thinking about what wonders she might buy at the Event. "Screw the FBI. The salary sucked anyway."

* * *

Sleep came quickly.

John's breathing had deepened, but his body was far from resting. Marred by distorting frowns and violent twitches, the nightmares of untold past horrors clashed in his subconscious. Joss had forgotten a glass of water, or that's what she used as an excuse to check out the muffled grunts coming from her living room.

She'd never seen him actually sleep and could count the number of times she'd actually seen him stop working on one hand, and most of those... he was unconscious. The man never seemed to catch a break.

Joss stole this rare moment to just appreciate him. John Reese. Her vigilante.

Countless times she had let her mind wander with fantasies about having him here, all to herself. What would it be like to share a real moment? An intimate moment? To touch his incredible body, run her fingers over his long, solid muscles and drink in that perfectly sculpted ruggedness? To be touched by him? Loved by him?

Many times she would conjure the sounds of his enthralling whisper, close her eyes and visualize that smooth, predatory walk of his, feel the air of confidence and control that seemed to radiated with every step. Without even trying, the man was simply seductive and sinfully alluring. Did he even know?

But it wasn't just his physical traits and prowess that had her so taken. His sharp intellect and deductive skills kept her hanging on his every word, while his quick wit never failed to draw a smile even when things got rough. She found herself infected by his crusading courage and deeply admired his tireless devotion to helping anyone in need.

Another sharp whine shook her back to his sleeping form. She felt a pang of sorrow for the torment he's dreams were surely putting him through, and for the fact that, soon, some of the things that made him so special would put him in harms way - yet again. She understood that to accept him, was to accept what he did, along with all the dangers and the lines he crossed. And though she truly trusted him and his methods, she still feared for him.

She sighed... Come tomorrow, with out a shadow of a doubt, he would put his life on the line to protect whoever Finch, and their sources threw at him.

But dammit... For right now, he was here, and she could try to ease his suffering, offer her protection and some peace.

As gently as she could, she draped a blanket over him and slide alongside his prone body. Carefully, she smoothed soft circles of comfort on his chest, until he quieted and seemed to relax.

She took a deep breath and melted against him. Tomorrow would come too soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Martin Boyd, or as _this_ passport read, Mark Doyle, strolled through JFK International, enjoying the oblivious hustle and bustle of the red-eyed crowd. He'd just returned from his extended _business_ trip to Asia and was honestly glad to be back on US soil.

New York in particular was one of the most varied and rich epicenters of the world. Everyone that was worth a shit... came through New York. The opportunities it offered were endless, and that was certainly true when it came to the most lucrative Arms Events. Period.

Boyd enjoyed his new line of work; arms smuggling was a high rolling and exciting job. Okay, so maybe not as moral as his days with the SEALs, but hell, if people were gonna kill each other anyway.., why not get rich selling them better tools to do it?

He loved weapons, always had. He was good at using them and two years ago, found out he was even better at selling them. Getting rich dealing in the best and most exclusive armaments, well that was just icing on the cake!

But there were times he missed his old life. The physical challenge, the impossible missions, and the comradery he shared. The SEALs had been his life and his family, until they turned their backs on him.

'Leave no man behind.' A motto that doesn't mean crap when your team doesn't give you the benefit of the doubt. But there it was, one fuck-up... a couple stupid villagers in the wrong place at the wrong time and you're life gets blown to hell right along with them. In the end you're nothing but a number skewing things the wrong way for some paper pushing asshole's acceptable statistic chart.

Bureaucratic bastards had no idea what real life was like beyond a paper cut. "What ever..." at least now things were on his terms. With the black market items he purchased and sold from just this annual Event, he could easily retire to some tropical paradise in a couple years.

With nothing but his carry-on, he was out of the terminal and quickly hailing a taxi. "The Ritz-Carlton, Central Park. Take the long way, I'm not in a hurry."

* * *

Slowly, John began to wake, but without his usual hyper-alert anxiety. No. This time he felt strangely... calm. That's when he noticed the sweet smell of jasmine gently coaxing him awake. Carter.

Her head lay on his chest causing her silky hair to delicately drape over his shoulder. Her arm was outstretched, reaching across his chest while the graceful curves of her body pressed along the lengths of his. He marveled at her serene beauty, still asleep, yet holding him in such a protective embrace.

He couldn't believe she'd managed to lay down down next to him without his realizing it. Normally he was an extremely light sleeper. He'd gotten used to not sleeping much, and never well, so this was something new. He hadn't slept this soundly in.., he couldn't remember.

Sure his nightmares had worried her, he appreciatively studied her sleeping form. Despite how good it felt, he hated making her feel responsible for him - again.

John tentatively nuzzled her soft hair, while watching her long eyelashes play against her cheek in a busy dream.

He really wasn't sure how to handle this situation. It surprised him that he'd stayed here last night, after being so sure telling her it simply wasn't safe to have him so close in her life. The whole thing left him off balance, and that wasn't something he was used to.

The thought of allowing himself to have a closer relationship with Carter, both scared and thrilled him. He paled to think about anything happening to her because of his increased involvement in her life. But like she was quick to point out, '_She too, had chosen a dangerous profession and whether he thought so or not, they were already involved.'_ Leave it to Carter to simplify the complicated. He smiled.

Still, his life was one of harbored darknesses and passed evils, most of which Carter was - thankfully - not aware of. He didn't want to taint such purity; the thought made his stomach twist.

No matter how much he tried to make up for his past sins, he believed that redemption and forgiveness were nothing more than the illusive creatures of rumor and myth, just all consuming hopes to be chased, but never attained. He was who he was, and nothing could change that. But sometimes...

Sometimes, when she looked at him, her eyes would be filled with such acceptance and faith; it almost made him believe she wasn't seeing a monster at all, and that maybe forgiveness and second chances where possible.

If only he could hold onto that idea, but it didn't matter. It didn't change the fact that he was still a dangerous risk that she didn't need. And yet, that's what he'd thought about Jessica. He had pushed Jessica away, kept her at arms length thinking she would be safer - and it backfired. Ironically, he hadn't been close enough to save her. Could he better protect Carter by being closer to her, or would that just bring her into the cross hairs meant for him?

Dammit, how many rounds of soul-searching did it take!? He could usually see things so clearly, but where Carter was involved... things were so much more complex.

They worked together, saved and killed together. They fought the very battles, he'd told himself, he was sparing Jessica from. Was Carter his second chance? If he walked away from her, would he be condemning them both?

Joss was like no one he'd ever met before. She was so brazen, independent, determined, exceptionally skilled, and exasperatingly stubborn, definitely one of the most intelligent and capable people he'd ever worked with. But as capable as he knew she was, he just couldn't stop feeling responsible for her.

He looked at her with amazement, savoring their momentary contact. He couldn't make another mistake. Not with Joss Carter.

John looked at his watch, suddenly aware Finch hadn't called him yet. The machine had thrown a good curve ball, one that needed his undivided attention and he couldn't afford any distractions right now. As it was, he'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't notice the sleepy brown eyes gazing up at him.

"Hello Detective. I don't remember you tripping and falling on me last night."

A rose hue bloomed across Carter's cheeks. "Yeah, well... your nightmares were kicking your ass, so I thought I'd lend a hand. Do you always have them?"

"It's why I try not to sleep much. Thank you... it helped." He shared one of his rare smiles that actually touched his eyes. "I should go. Finch has probably worn a hole through his keyboard by now."

Carter sat up, so Reese could slid his legs off the couch. "John. Five numbers is too many for you alone. You need to dole them out. Fusco and I'll meet you later." She stood.

"If they end up being out of the country or even just spread across the US, you and Fusco can't be involved."

She didn't like it, but logically he was right. "You know, this happens too often, you might want to add another _'Friend,' _to the '_Mutual Friend Club'._"

John stood and faced her. "I think you and Finch are all I can handle, and Fusco..? What can I say.., I keep him around to make me look good."

That earned him a smack to the arm. "Would it kill you to be a little nicer to the guy. You intimidate the shit outta him, ya know."

"And take all the fun out of it..? I'll call you later Detective." John playfully grinned over his shoulder and walked out the door.

* * *

Dan Erinson disembarked his private jet feeling excited and eager. He stretched his long, tall, muscular body and ran his hands through thick, dark hair as he took in the gorgeous city silhouetted against the brightening sunrise.

Funny how each city had its distinctive and unique skyline. Those few renowned buildings, so unmistakable, they identified that specific city whether by day or night. Paris, London, Chicago, San Francisco, and New York. Unmistakable.

He settled back into the rich leather of the waiting limo and rolled down his window, content to enjoy the short trip to the NY Essex House Hotel.

Everything was ready for the annual buying trip. Before leaving, he'd wrapped up the last shipment out of San Francisco and destined for Columbia. His warehouses were now bare, cleaned out and awaiting the new products.

Last year's order had doubled his money - this year he intended on tripling it. Without the Event, he might as well be selling the furniture he used to smuggle the weapons in. He laughed at that thought... "Weapons smuggling ex-Marine goes legit in furniture business... Yeah right! Like that would ever happen!"


	6. Chapter 6

Reese hurriedly made his way up the stars to the library, balancing the breakfast container and two hot drinks as he rounded the last corner to the main room of their headquarters. It was almost 6:00 am and he still hadn't gotten a call from Finch.

The computer room was unusually void of any typing or paper shuffling; even the blue light spilling from the morphing screen savers suggested they hadn't recently been touched. Only the dull hum of computer fans, and the soft, stereo snoring of Finch and Bear, broke the silence.

Reese found Finch with his head uncomfortably cradled in his arms on the desk, and Bear protectively curled at his feet. He noted the frown creasing the brow of his overworked friend, most likely due to the pain the position would be causing his neck.

Finch looked worn, far from his usual dapper appearance and wore the same clothes, obviously, not having left after sending him away. Not even Bear bothered to move.

Finch's tenacity amazed him. Many times Reese wondered what happened in his past to have instilled such an undying level of dedication and drive. Someday.., maybe Finch would share, but regardless he admired the man and was thankful to call him a friend.

Letting him sleep, John silently moved to their display board, finding it plastered by information. John clung to his coffee as if it were a weapon against the hypnotic sounds of his sleeping companion and quickly immersed himself, memorizing each posted fact.

Unexpectedly, a voice broke the silence. "I've been looking for anything that might connect our numbers." Reese turned, surprised at how quickly Finch could go from out-cold,to intensely awake. If Reese hadn't just heard him snoring, he would have doubted he'd ever been asleep.

"Find anything? And good morning, Harold."

Finch distractedly and pushed on. "So far, two things, besides the obvious background and training commonalities. I also thought to check into their previous mission histories. Covert missions would have given them access to potentially sensitive intel, but that was a dead-end. I found no evidence of them selling information, or anything along those lines to suggest a connection or threat."

"So what did you find? And Harold... here," Reese slid the eggs Benedict directly in front of Finch, handing him the fork, "eat something."

Finch took the fork, but didn't acknowledge it as he continued. "Well, they're not exactly upstanding citizens. In fact, my findings show they are all involved in some form of illegal activity from weapons trafficking and insurance fraud to hired services - of the assassination variety. Again however, nothing that connects them specifically, except that they were all here, in New York, this time last year."

"All of them? Sounds like they're planning something. Why else collect in New York, again. You said two things?"

"Indeed. I managed to track down a few of their email accounts, and found a common message, highly encrypted, from both last year and now."

"What was in the email?"

"I can't say; I'm still working on opening it."

John frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"How so, Mr. Reese?"

"They would be more careful. Leaving a record of their visit, not wiping old emails? It all seems too sloppy for their level of training. They'd know how to communicate to travel and avoid detection, and not leaving any evidence leading back to them - is Covert Ops-101. They would know - because I would. Do we know why, they were here last year?"

Finch took a drink and looked at John. "No, not yet. I'm running a search of any thing out of the ordinary that might have occurred around this date, last year. But I have a feeling the answer is in those emails. I'll need to get physical access to one of their laptops to download a key."

"You can't just crack the code?"

"Given enough time, yes, but using brute force on a code like this would take weeks we don't have. I haven't seen such a sophisticated level of encryption since... well, my work. In this case it would be prudent to bypass the algorithm question and address Key management. Nothing man-made is ever perfect Mr. Reese, there are always flaws, and the handler is usually the weakest link - if you will." Finally Finch noticed his food and took a few bits.

"Here, you look like you could use one or two." John handed Harold the pill bottle he always used on those _'bad days.' _

"Thank you. I would assume, by your much improved appearance and demeanor, that you managed to get some rest?"

He couldn't catch the smile before it faintly flashed across his face. The memory of waking up in Carter's arms was still so real, he could still feel her warmth. "I did, thank you." Finch questioningly eyed him a bit longer than he felt comfortable with, so Reese changed the subject. "What do we have on their locations?"

Pushing the mostly eaten food aside. Finch stood and stiffly moved toward the board. "Going off the assumption that they might all be heading to New York again, I tapped into the TSA facial recognition software and got a couple hits."

Finch pointed to the first face in their line up. "Under the alias, Mark Doyle, Martin Boyd arrived into JFK this morning. I was able to tack him from there to the Ritz-Carlton, Central Park. His current line of work is as an arms dealer, trafficking weapons, mostly, to and from China. Prior to that, he was a career solider until disobeying his orders and detonating three bombs in a Columbian village, killing over thirty civilians. Needless to say he was dishonorably discharged, before he went off grid."

"Sounds like a quality guy..." Reese flippantly mumbled.

"I'm afraid you're opinion isn't going to vary much with the others either, Mr. Reese. Dan Erinson, the presumed dead ex-Marine, is using an international furniture shipping company to smuggle and sell weapons to Columbia and Cuba. On a hunch, I checked the company's assets list and found a private jet. A flight plan was logged showing it's arrival into New York this morning, and I have him checking into the Essex House Hotel.

"So two arms dealers... They might be here for a sale. What about the others?" Reese was trying to piece things as they went.

"By implementing specific facial recognition algorithms into the traffic camera network, I crudely managed to locate Hugh Sinclair and Sandra Stark. They both appear in New York as of yesterday, although it seems Mr. Sinclair has been here all along. He's created an entirely new cover, a very good one at that. I almost didn't uncover his new identity were it not for the smallest link back to an Aunt in the UK. He now goes by Hugh Wayneright, and runs a real estate consulting firm downtown. However, it's nothing more than a front for his work as a 'Fixer.'"

Finch paused noticing the expression on John's face, and shook his head. "Before you get concerned that you have competition... you needn't. He offers his 'fixing' skills to the highest bidder. Blackmail, extortion,and ransomed kidnappings are just a few of his advertised specialties. Though, despite the reasons for being fired from MI6, he does not list wet-works as one of them."

"Okay, so not a killer, but no boy-scout either. What about Stark and Trent?"

"Indeed. Miss Stark now uses her explosives and demolitions expertise for her own brand of 'skills for hire;' she destroys buildings for clients, making it look like an accident so they can collect on enormous insurance claims and lawsuit payoffs. My program identified her entering New York around 2:00 am and tracked her to the Waldorf-Astoria."

"As you can see, this only adds to our dilemma of establishing why the machine gave us their numbers, and the possibility that they are co-conspiring a crime remains a distinct possibility."

"None of this narrows down why the machine gave us their numbers. If anything, we've got possibilities crawling out of the woodwork. At least they are all in New York. What about the fifth guy?"

"Mr. Trent, yes. I'm afraid he has proven to be a bit harder to find. He seems to be quite adept at avoiding any cameras, so I've targeted his financials to see if I can find him that way. I was correct in my assumption that his Private Security firm is not his only focus. Much like Sinclair, Trent offers a full array of services, but unlike Sinclair, Trent specializes in assassinations."

Finch could see look of conflicted doubt. "What are you thinking Mr. Reese?"

"I feel like we're wasting our time. These guys are obviously all degenerates, why not just turn them all in? The FBI would be thrilled."

"I understand you're feels. And frankly I'm of the same mind. However, if they are in fact the victims, then we need to identify why the machine gave us their numbers first. We may miss the bigger picture, thereby allowing not truly stopping the threat."

"Then the only way to get the answers we need is to get eyes on them, and see what's going on." He still wasn't sure that getting the numbers out-of-the-way wasn't the best course of action. But Finch was right, they might never uncover the truth otherwise. "I'm going to meet with Carter and Fusco, bring them up to speed and get them on at least two of our numbers. Any preferences Finch?"

"Preference?" Finch squinted in question.

"Who's computer do you want? You said you needed a physical connection to one of their computers." Reese frowned, Finch needed to recharge after last night's research-marathon.

"Ah. Sinclair's office maybe a good bet, perhaps for one of the Detectives? I'll arrange a cover story. And Stark. She has a spa appointment this morning. I hacked the Waldorf computer system last night and did see she was carrying a computer case. If she leaves it in the room... I'll only need ten minuets with it."

"I'll put Carter on Sinclair. She has more covert training. And Harold, maybe you should grab a quick nap. You look terrible." With those tender words Reese disappeared down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

The train ride had been a blissful pleasure, filled with the most sublime and stunning scenery the Northeastern US had to offer. From Niagara Falls, through breathtaking country sides, then along to the banks of the Hudson, the twelve-hour train trip from Toronto, left Peter Trent energized.

Even after eight years, he still couldn't get use to beauties and limitless freedoms, not to mention what he could do with those freedoms. Free of any overseers, rulers, rules or laws, he was able to exploit everything the West had to offer and finally put his _unique skills_ to use for his own benefit.

His business had done well these past six years, flourishing on the _problems_ that counted on a discreet finality. Assassination had always been his forte, it was just poetic to get paid for it.

Walking through the train station, Trent was carefully reading each person he passed, assessing and committing everyone to memory. He made a note of every vehicle on the taxi ride to his hotel, making the driver take an out-of-the-way route and three random detours through surface streets. An old habit, but one he couldn't give up.

As Peter settled into his hotel room, he felt ill at ease and guarded. While not on a job, this trade show was far from legal and it's products.. even less so. This would be his forth, and each year just seemed to get better than the last.

With so many ingenious new products, killing people was getting easier and easier.

* * *

"No kidding. It's about time.., been wondering when the hell your vacation'd be over. Been over two weeks of doin' your job and mine, ya know." Fusco was feeling less than warm and fussy toward the ex-Op at the moment. Between his regular work, dodging HR's mess and having to deal with Mr. Happy's work load, he was a little on the stressed out side.

"Hello, Lionel. I'm touched you missed me." He taunted the burly cop.

"Yeah - like a heart attack. So you gonna tell me the real reason for this social call?"

"Grab your partner and meet me at the diner in one hour. And Fusco... you need to take a deep breath and relax a bit."

Fusco could only stare at the_'Call Ended' _icon on his phone. "What the!?" No _'good bye, please, or thank you for all your work while I was MIA, Lionel. Just do as you're told, Lionel... Risk your butt with HR, Lionel... Get screwed, Lionel. _ "_Ass..." _He grumbled, rounding his desk for Carter's. He'd long since given up guessing what the 'Dynamic Duo' were up to; there was just no predicting some of the insane shit these guys dealt with."

"Huh? You say something?" Carter looked up from her files.

"Na, nothin'. Guess Wonder-boy's back. He just called, wants us to meet in an hour. Any idea why? Or you think it's simple follow and report case?"

She seriously doubted it, and hoped this meeting wasn't to let them know they'd be taking over things again while John flew off across the Atlantic. "I have a feeling this ones gonna be different."

* * *

The white van pulled into the street, quickly assuming a camouflaged spot amongst the growing New York traffic. No one could see inside the dark windows, but not giving anyone cause to look was key.

"Sir, all targets have arrived in New York without complication."

"Excellent. Is everything else ready?"

"Ready Sir. The site is set up and secure, awaiting 'GO' for 22:00 hundred, Friday."

"Good. Make sure your men remain undetected by our targets."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Carter felt anxious. She would feel better after she had something concrete to wrap her head around, instead of the wild speculation that had been plaguing her thoughts all morning.

Four cups of coffee and Fusco's impatient babbling, had her nerves wound so tight, she nearly jumped when Reese placed his hand on her shoulder. "Don't you ever use the front door?" She snapped out of surprise.

"Not if I can help it." He wore just a hint of his usual devilish smirk, but his eyes met hers with welcoming warmth. He sat across from them, sipping the coffee he'd brought with him.

"So spill, Carter and I've been here for a while now."

"Easy Fusco. But, since you asked so nicely..."

Reese began, filling them both in on the complexity and honest uncertainty of the situation. He would have Fusco follow Martin Boyd and Carter would infiltrate the Wayneright consulting firm.

He had his reservations about using Finch, Carter and Fusco at all. They were dealing with subjects that were highly skilled and more dangerous than their usual suspects. These numbers were trained to recognized a tail and could potentially react with extreme prejudice. But Reese didn't have a choice; five numbers was just too much for him to handle alone.

"Lionel, I need you to keep an eye on Boyd. Pair with his phone, then keep your distance. We suspect Boyd may be here for an arms deal. He was in New York this time last year too, so maybe a reoccurring meet."

John slowly looked to Carter as he slid an envelope across to her. "Besides jacking his phone, try to get this flash drive into Sinclair's computer. Finch has already taken care of your cover story. You'll be a prospective client and have an afternoon meeting today. Remember... these guys are trained to know all the tricks." He looked at Carter a bit longer than he meant to.

"If these guys are all involved in illegal crimes, why not just arrest them?" Carter didn't see the point in wasting time on criminals.

Reese inwardly smiled... his sentiments exactly. "We need to identify the threat or their target first. Good or bad, until we know what the deal is, we won't know if we're making the right move. Wouldn't want to miss another bad guy for you're collection, Carter." John raised an eyebrow to go along with a crooked smiled as he stood. "And when you can, we need you to gather reports of incidents centering around this date last year. There has to be a connection. I'll be in touch."

They watched him leave. "Damn, ya know... I think that's the most concerned I've ever heard Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding... Kinda scary." Fusco admitted.

"Yeah, well... if he's worried, take it as a sign that this just got very real."


	8. Chapter 8

Reese parked in the underground parking structure of the Waldorf-Astoria. Finch used the hacked garage feeds from last night to locate Starks car in order for Reese break in and see if any evidence presented itself. Unfortunately, it yielded nothing, so Harold waited, while John went in to locate Stark.

Reese positioned himself in the lobby with a full view of the elevators and stairs. He relaxed into a chair, holding some newspaper, and played the part of the carefree hotel guest in wait.

"Mr. Reese, Stark has her 9:00 in-house, spa appointment. If she is on time, she should be passing by any second. I'm heading up now."

John looked at his watch. Five to nine. "No Finch, wait until I have eyes on her. I don't want you crossing paths." But as expected, Sandra Stark exited the elevator just then. With not so much as a glance from his paper, Reese cloned her phone and made sure she was heading for the spa.

She was only wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, but she was pretty, with a lean, athletic body and moved with a purposeful confidence. Her hair was blond, shoulder length and uncomplicated, but went with her natural beauty. She carried herself with the certainty and ease of someone that knew they could mop the floor with you, but honestly couldn't spar the time. "Stark just went into the spa. You're clear. She had not bags, so any laptop should still in her room. You have the phone signal?"

Finch checked his phone as he hurriedly made his way through the hotel. "I do, yes."

"Okay, she should be safe for now. I'm going to head after Erinson. Be careful Finch, she's experienced and alert. Don't cut things too close. Anything happens... just get out."

"I'll be fine Mr. Reese. This won't take but a few minutes."

John had to smile at Finch's new found bravado. He just hoped it wouldn't carry over into taking excessive chances.

* * *

Finch moved through the halls, nervous about any on lookers, but no one gave him so much as a second glance. He had always had the ability to fade into the, _'dismissed,' _crowd when it suited him, and yet blend just as seamlessly into the elite circles of the powerful. Funny, how he never felt a true part of either. He realized.

Remembering Reese's warning to stay extra vigilante, Finch looked around before checking his computer. Stark's signal was indeed still down stairs.

Of all the places he'd had to break into, since starting his more involved 'field work' with Mr. Reese, this was at least one of the more appealing. He'd stayed here on numerous occasions, so navigating the halls and looping each camera just ahead of his path, was easy.

He paused at the end of the hall, waiting for a rather, romantically, enthusiastic couple to enter their room. He took the moment to program is door card before approaching the room. The door's entry light flashed a welcoming green, after Finch slide his bypass card through. "Mr. Reese, I'm in." As expected, the laptop was diligently locked in the safe, but with the master override, he easily retrieved it and set to work.

Just as a precaution, he checked Stark's GPS signal once again. This time, his pulse jumped with the sudden discovery that she had left the spa and was moving back toward the room. Had she forgotten something? Had he triggered some unseen alarm? Regardless he estimated he had less than five minutes. _Not enough time_.

* * *

Erinson moved down the street, using his six foot four frame to easily part the flowing people as he appeared to take in the sites. Reese studied his target. For all the world, Erinson looked like any typical tourist, from his, 'I love New York' sweat shirt, to the thick wad of brochures stuffed into his pants pockets.

He honestly appeared to be enjoying himself.

Maybe he was, but it didn't mean he wasn't up to something. The broad smile and carefree attitude reminded Reese of his ex-CIA partner - Kara Stanton. That exact smile _only_ appeared on her face _when_ she was about to do something dangerously intense.

Reese invisibly slipped through the crowd, as individual faces bled into one mass and swallowed him into blurred obscurity. Blending had become an art form, and one he'd mastered early on. Even with Erinson's habitual back glances, he had no idea he was being followed and that his phone had just been jacked.

The familiar chirp of John's earpiece had him ducking into a nearby sandwich shop while Erinson stopped at a magazine stand. "How's it going Finch?"

"Mr. Reese, I have the laptop, but it seems Miss Stark has changed her mind about a massage."

"Are you clear?"

"No, I only need a few more minutes.. Depending."

"Depending? On what, Harold?"

Finch continued his search of the laptop. "Her safety protocols and security measures are considerable, but I expected that."

"Ok, so what didn't you expect?" Reese pushed, getting more frustrated and concerned as he glanced around the corner at Erinson reading.

"There was a tamper alert sent to her phone. I rerouted the signal and am sure I intercepted it in time. Since our phones are paired, it would have trigger on mine as well - thankfully, it did not."

"Good..? So what's the problem, Harold?"

"She's on her way up and I've hit another snag."

"What! Don't chance it. Get out of there!"

"I found the Key, but it's designed to destroy itself if copied or transferred; so I'll only be able to use it here. Unfortunately, that will considerably complicated our work."

"Finch, we'll figure it out. Now - you - need - to - get - out. I'm across town."

"Just another couple seconds... to finish decrypting... there." Once more he checked Stark's location and fear spiked thought his body. She was in the elevator! Finch tried to rein in his alarm and focus, "Mr. Reese, it's an invitation." Without hesitation he snapped a photo and read the decrypted email.

**Annual ****_W.A.R. Event_**

**_Bringing You Tomorrow - Today._**

**Jan 11th - 22:00 **

**_JKF Red Garage Zone C _**

**_Code: SSTARK#005_**

**_Black tie affair_**

"So our numbers could all be here for this event... Okay, now Harold... get out of there!"

Finch checked the GPS. He wasn't going to make. Quickly he opened his laptop and sent an override order to stop the elevator one floor down. He hoped that would give him the time he needed to get her computer locked back up and get out.

He limped as fast as his unyielding body would allow and was just to the door when the signal started moving again... She was in the stairs!

"Finch, are you clear? Are you out?" Reese had an intense wash of panic when he got no response. "Harold?"

The silence was deafening as the weighed seconds drug with eternal slowness. "Harold, can hear me?"

John was aggressively weaving his way back toward his Ducati when a breathless pant penetrated through his fear. "Now... you know.. how I feel..." Harold responded. "I managed... to make it around the corner... and down the service stairs. I'm heading to the garage now."

Reese came to a melting halt, closing his eyes with relief. "That was too close Finch."

"At least I now know how to access the Key and can direct you, should we gain access to any of the other's computers." Though his voice may have sounded normal, he felt far from it as his heart continued to race.

Despite the close call, John couldn't help feel a sense of pride for how far his reclusive friend had ventured from the safety of his computer screens. "Well..., good job Finch, I think you may have a promising career as a cat burglar should the machine ever run out of batteries."

Finch nervously chuckled. "I doubt that Mr. Reese; I believe I'll leave the cat and mouse routine to you."

John smiled. "I'm sending you some pictures. Erinson wasn't just sightseeing, he just met someone. He'd getting into a black sedan now. I'm going to stay with him."


	9. Chapter 9

Reese was tailing the sedan at a cautious distance. Maybe he'd finally learn why their number's were in New York, or at least Erinson. "Finch. Were you able to find out who that was?"

"Indeed. The man in the photo you sent is Julian Mariano."

"As in, the New Jersey crime family, Mariano?"

"One and the same."

"I guess we can add gun running to their laundry list of crimes. For them to openly be conducting business in this part of town, mean's they're either expanding and keeping it from Elias or he's a part of it too."

"Possibly. Stay close Mr. Reese. This could go badly."

It wasn't the first time Reese wished the machine would at least let them know if their numbers were the danger or in danger. It would save them so much time spent stumbling around in the dark. "They just pulling into a warehouse off 15th. Do we still have a connection to his phone? I'm not hearing anything."

"It's an active connection."

"Then he must have left it in the car. Typical mob rules. I'll have to go in." Reese parked his motorcycle around the back of the next building over.

It was faster to bypass the two goons standing guard, and access the warehouse by way of the neighboring building. Reese doubled back, easily braking into the metal fabrication shop and headed for its rooftop.

The distance was a good ten feet, but nothing he hadn't done before; he'd had lots of practice leaping across buildings over the years. Silently, he jumped the distance. "Finch I'm going in now."

"Be careful Mr. Reese."

Though he always carried a bump-key it wasn't necessary. The roof door was unlocked and unguarded. "Guess they feel safe," Reese acknowledged, "that's a mistake."

The computer parts warehouse was only two stories. The bottom level was an open, clear-span staging area for crates, John seriously doubted had computer parts in them. The second story was comprised of balcony offices overlooking the area bellow. They wrapped around three sides of the warehouse and gave John a good bird's-eye view of the layout.

Reese could hear the rapidly heating conversation echoing up from bellow. He edged along the wall, careful not to attract attention by his motion and moved to a darkened corner to get a better look. He snapped a shot of the five men aggressively posturing. "Sending you a photo, Finch. Erinson sounds pretty pissed off. Apparently unhappy with the fact that Mariano isn't willing to pre-pay for some 'order,' I can only assume are weapons. Mariano isn't budging."

"Mr. Reese, I recognize three of them as Mariano's top lieutenants along with Sid Salva, Julian's right hand man. I'm not sure it would be wise to take on the mob by yourself. Can you get to Erinson?"

"Yeah, but so can they." Reese had an idea. "Finch, call in a raid. That'll give them something else to think about and break this up." Reese was already moving along the balcony wall at a quick pace. He needed to get to a vantage point with a clear view of the men. A group of heavy metal drums would do.

"Listen to me!" Erinson snapped, towering over the shorter, pudgy Mariano. "My reputation is solid. I've never given you any cause to doubt my methods or products. You want the special price, you pay upfront." Despite being out numbered, Erinson stood his ground with no evidence of being intimidated by the looming mobsters.

Reese was in position with his gun aimed, ready to take down the first man to make a move.

"We - do - not prepay for merchandise. The mere fact that we are talking, is you're pre-payment. The order stands. Three-hundred of your bio-guns and we pay at delivery. Not before. Or maybe you need a lesson in good business? Huh?" Julian gestured to his men to advance on Erinson, but before anyone moved, the closing wail of sirens filtered through the metal walls. "Cops! You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch. Let's go!"

John watched as the men scrambled to their vehicles, leaving Erinson behind. "Finch they're heading out, Erinson's on foot."

"You'd better leave too, Mr. Reese. The police are only seconds away."

"I want to make sure he gets out safely." Reese sprinted across from one rooftop to the next, watching as the mob cars sped down the rear alley and Erinson hopped a fence and bolted around the building. "How's Stark?"

After being so stressed by his earlier encounter in Stark's hotel room, Finch marveled at how Mr. Reese could so calmly carry on a conversation while avoiding the raiding NYPD, keep an eye on his fleeing number and think to ask how things were going on his end. "Relaxing. Miss Stark hasn't left her room, after going back to finish her spa treatment. She ordered a pay-per-view movie, room service for lunch and made a 6:00 dinner reservation, at the Blue Hill. Nothing else."

"Sounds like you'll at least enjoy dinner tonight, Finch." Reese tracked Erinson heading down another alley, unfortunately heading straight toward a NYPD cruiser. "Dammit."

"What's happening, Mr. Reese?"

"Erinson is about to get caught by police... Wow! Wait a minute. A van just cut him off. He's good, clear." He had to hand it to the guy, he was lucky.

By the time John was back on his bike and around the block, Reese just caught a glimpse of Erinson getting into a cab. Phone-less, and most for sure pissed, but alive. "I'm going to head back to his hotel room, see what I can find."

"That may not be necessary. I got into his email account through his phone, and found sufficient evidence suggesting he received the same invitation. He has a limo reserved for Friday night with a 9:30 pm drop off scheduled at JFK International."

"Okay so that's two of our guys invited to this thing. What about our new players - W.A.R?"

"All I can tell you, is that an amazing amount of effort and skill has gone into keeping... whoever _they_ are, quiet. However... I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. Oh.., but I did finally locate Mr. Trent for you."

"Good. Text me his location. And Harold, don't underestimate Stark."

* * *

John smoothly darted through the thickening, afternoon traffic. The Ducati was always a favorite for getting around the congested city with both, style and ease; not to mention, it was better for avoiding detection.

Finch had spotted Trent by way of an ATM camera, downtown. People rarely thought to avoid those.

Jetting between a row of stalemated cars, Reese tapped his handle grip bluetooth. "Hello Lionel. How goes the sleuthing?"

"If I have to chase this guy through one more damn souvenir shop, I don't care what his deal is, I'm gonna shoot him. This sightseeing crap is for the birds!"

"Come on Lionel, couldn't hurt to enjoy the city a little bit, told you, you should relax." Reese would never miss a chance to torment his 'pet' Detective. Truth be told, he had grown fond of the grumpy cop. He wouldn't go so far as to call him a friend, but they had each other's backs when it counted. And that 'wasn't nothing.' John mused. "Where you able to connect with Boyd's phone?"

"Yeah, finally. I survived a herd of stampeding Texans without getting trampled, and made it passed a procession of Nuns hell-bent on beating me through the door, but I finally got close enough. You get the signal?"

"Yes Detective, thank you." Finch chimed in.

"Geez! How do you guys do that? You, always listing. Hearing everything on both ends. It's creepy..." Lionel was panting with the effort of keeping up with the well conditioned ex-SEAL. "So you want me to just keep following him? I think the son-of-a-bitch is Jonesing for a ferry ride. He's heading there now."

"Stay with him. We need to piece together everything we can about what these guys are wrapped up in." Reese pushed.

"Yeah, got it." Fusco scrunched his face in frustration. "I just wish he'd check out some of the local bars, instead of all this running arou... Hold on!" Lionel quickly ducked through the crowd so he could get a less obstructed view of Martin Boyd. "He's meet'n someone on the ferry."

"Send a photo of him, Mr. Fusco." Finch added.

"Her... He's meeting with a her. Asian, not alone either - looks like one, maybe two guys with her. Also Asian, and seriously tatted up. If I had to guess, I'd bet Triad or Yakuza."

"Okay, stay on them but keep a good distance." Reese cautioned.

"Yes Detective, we can hear what they are saying now. I'll let you know if we need you to intervene." Finch offered.

John didn't wait for Fusco's response before disconnecting, he was dealing with another matter - namely, not being seen by a very talented, Trent. "Finch, I've got Trent."

* * *

Trent was definitely cagey and well versed in the art of loosing a tail. Even with all of Reese's training and experience, he gave him a run for his money. Trent was hyper-alert and seemed on guard, forcing Reese to implement various tracking techniques and covert tactics to stick with the former operative's constant taxi hopping, ducking through stores, and avoid his doubling back tricks.

John tried cloning his phone on two attempts, but with no success. Either he didn't have one or the blue tooth was disabled. "Finch I'm not having much luck here. This guy's all over the place, as if he knows he's being followed."

"Maybe he's aware of your presence?"

"No, he hasn't made me.., which makes me wonder who he's running from. I'll stay on him, but I need to pull back."

"Very well, Mr. Reese. I'll be in the library momentarily. I'll try to assist you by way of the city cameras should you lose him."

"What about Stark?"

"I'm watching her via the hotel's security feeds. Never fear, I still intend on following her to dinner." Harold really wasn't looking forward to it.

"If we're lucky, he'll finally lead me back to where he's staying, and a computer. Any word from Carter?"

"She should be meeting with Sinclair within the hour. If she successfully gets him to upload my RAT program, I'll be able to take control of his computer and initialize a remote session."

"What about Boyd. You find anything on his phone?" John wondered.

"I need to get back to the library to be sure, but a quick look suggests the same encrypted email."

Reese was chewing on that. That made three so far. Stark, Boyd, and Erinson. But there was still no clear answer as to why the machine had given them the five numbers. Were they planning to do something at this Event? Or were they at risk because of it? They needed to know more about this Event.

The cutting lane change of a taxi jolted him from his thoughts. Reese frowned. At least they knew where the pickup was going to be... and he could work with that.

* * *

"When can we expect the shipment?"

Martin Boyd shifted against the wind and eyed the beautiful, and deadly woman. "After I get my payment, you'll get it day after tomorrow. Midnight, same place as last year."

Fusco stuck to the back of the ferry. If he thought the wind was cold before, it was nothing compared to it's bitter bite moving across the open water. The only good thing about staying out of sight of his target, was that he had to stay huddled between people, cutting some of the chill so he could concentrate on the jacked conversation.

He flipped up his jacket collar and shoved the hand not holding the phone his pocket, when his call waiting beeped. "Anything?"

"The woman's name is Laura Quan, aka the Viper." Finch quickly began. "She's one of the heads of the Triad branches in charge of the gambling halls in Chinatown, but it seems arms dealing has become a primary source of income for the group. From what I'm finding she has quite the reputation for violence and was the prime suspect in the deaths of two members of the Mariano family. Apparently knives are her specialty; the bodies had to be identified by dental records. The two with her are Jimmy Lee, and Shawn Cho. With records as long as my arm, it's safe to say they are bad news as well."

"Wonderful. And I'm stuck out here on a boat just listening to them." Fusco gripped. Truth was, he would have loved nothing more than the smallest excuse to toss these loser scum-bags into the frigid waters. "So far your arms guy is safe, busy eyeballing the snake lady and closing his deal. Everyone's being real careful not to mention of what, but I'm gonna assume the 'shipment,' is weapons."

"That would be a safe assumption given what Boyd does for a living, Mr. Fusco. Stay close, I'll be in touch."

"You sure you don't want me to just take them all in? This round trip ferry ride doesn't have to be a total waste of time."

"I'm sorry Detective, we share you're frustration... But we need to let this play out."

"Fine... I'll stay on em. But I'm tell'n ya one thing's for sure.., I'm not letting any weapons hit the streets." It was one thing waiting to see what this trash was up too, it was a whole different deal letting it spilled over into his city.

"I assure you Detective, we won't let that happen." Finch smiled at Lionel's conviction. Despite his initial reservations, John had chosen their allies well.


	10. Chapter 10

Two taxis, a bus and three trips around the city, Reese was rapidly loosing patients when Trent finally led him to the hotel. The guy was nothing if not paranoid. Reese had backed well off his target and passed the Four Points Hotel with traveling disinterest, rounded the corner a block away and stopped in front of a convenience store.

Under the guise of removing his gloves and helmet, he smoothly camouflaged a careful survey of his surroundings; it was no longer Peter Trent that had his attention.

"Harold...?"

"Yes Mr. Reese."

"I have a feeling Trent wasn't just being paranoid. We're being watched. I caught a glimpse of the same white van, twice now. Once while surveilling Erinson, and now at the Four Seasons. New E350, so no plates, and heavily tinted windows." Reese watched the van vanish around the corner.

"I'll see what I can pick up on the traffic cams corresponding to your traveled path. Keep a sharp eye, Mr. Reese."

* * *

"Sir. We may have a problem."

"Explain."

"The same man was seen following two of our targets, DERINSON#001 and PTRENT#003."

"Do we have an identity?"

"No Sir. Neither facial, voice, or gait recognition databases have a match. He does appear to be highly skilled at surveillance."

"Has he made any contact with the targets?"

"No Sir, just shadowing them."

"If he interferes or engages the targets, deal with him. I don't want the operation blown in the eleventh hour by some spook. Keep me posted."

"Copy Sir."

* * *

Reese entered the lobby of the Hotel via the sub-garage entrance. He'd ducked through the convenience store and slipped out the back, navigating a short maze of alleys that ultimately led back to the hotel.

Though the white van was nowhere to be seen, it didn't mean they were gone. Who ever they were, Reese wasn't about to make this easy.

Reese walked through the lobby casually scanning for anybody out of place. But the only thing truly out of place was the extreme decor. He really wasn't one to notice interior design, beyond its obvious practicality, but this was downright distracting. Any defensible lay out and lines of sight gave way to cascading sheets of transparent glass artwork hanging from floor to ceiling in useless points of interest. So much for cover, he thought as Finch's voice came over his ear piece.

"Mr. Reese, you'd better hurry. I've taken the liberty of hacking into the hotel's computer system, a sorely lacking system I might add, and have located Mr. Trent; he's currently at the bar. He's staying in suite number 4001."

Reese moved to the elevators with an air of confidence that left little room to question his presence as the door slide shut. "Okay Finch, I'm heading up."

"You'll need an elevator code to get to the top suits. Enter 8547." Finch added. "I'll override the suite door once you're there."

The suite was one of only six on the entire floor, so it didn't take long to locate. John grinned when he approached the door and the light turned green. "You're like a cyber bump-key, Harold."

"I'd like to believe I'm a bit more useful." Finch said with mock insult.

Reese stepped through the threshold of the smotheringly, lavish suite. White, over-stuffed furniture dominated the space filled with plush white carpet. A black grand piano stood out like a sore thumb against the row of gigantic, floor-to-ceiling windows slanting out at a 45 degree angle over the city bellow. They gave the impression that the room was floating in the ominous grey clouds that had been collecting all morning. "Nice place, Finch.., a bit over the top. His_ 'work'_ certainly seems to be going well for him."

"His offshore accounts would agree with you. Have you found the safe? I texted the code to your phone."

Reese swung aside the painting covering the safe. "Got it, but there's no computer, some papers though." John thumbed through the rest of the safe's contents. "He's got some pretty impressive spec. sheets on weapon devices I thought were only theoretical. Bio-EMPs? Plasma shock inducers? Finch, these could make murders look absolutely natural." Reese paused squinting at faint impressions left in the paper. "Looks like he's made a few notes I can't quite..."

Finch interrupted, "Mr. Reese, I've just detected another signal piggy-backing over the hotel's security network. I'm seeing a video feed of you in the suite. You are indeed being watched."

"Any idea where they are?" Reese was already up, stuffing the papers into his coat as he headed for the door.

"Yes, one second... I'll try to trace its origin... Got it! They're under the building, in the parking garage. I can scramble the cameras as you make your way, but they'll know we've made them."

"I'm counting on it." Reese raced down the hall and punched the sub-level button in the elevator. He felt anxiously hopeful. "Maybe these guys'll have some damn answers."

"Mr. Reese be careful. They are undoing my work almost as fast as I'm doing it." Finch sounded frazzled. "John, they just cut all the video feeds and power to the hotel. They know you're coming. And I'm fighting a rather disturbing jamming signa... hard...t... aintain... connection."

"Finch? Can you hear me?"

* * *

Sir, the unidentified man was observed entering the hotel of one of the targets. Security video confirms he then entered his room. Orders?"

"He may have gleaned sensitive information. I think it's..."

"Sir, we were just pinged. He know's our location and is overriding our surveillance control."

"Cut everything and jam the area. Eliminate him!"

"Yes Sir."


	11. Chapter 11

*Warning - this chapter contains violence, injury and death. (Nothing more than the show, but you can't gloss over something with words as easily as you can on the screen.)

* * *

Carter had easily memorized her cover story, even did a little deeper background research herself. But she soon found herself bored and began pulling the files on their five names. She had hoped to find something Finch hadn't. Unfortunately, she came up empty and was out of time. She had to run home and get ready for her appointment.

She made haphazard piles of clothes on the floor and bed; it had to be just right.

Pulling out _these_ clothes, should have been special, made her feel happy or excited, but instead, they were made meaningless and turned into tools. That depressed her.

The last time she'd worn one of her _special_ dresses, it had been for John, but not for the reasons she fantasized about. No. It had been to lure, drug and steal a DNA sample from an innocent man in order to help John avoid exposure when he was being held at Rikers by the FBI.

Carter smoothed her hair and sprayed some perfume before heading out.

It struck her as tragic, that she never got to dress up for the _normal_ reasons anymore. She humorlessly laughed, while exiting her car and staring up at the swanky high-rise. Her life was so far from _normal_ - it wasn't funny. Hell, what _was_ normal anymore? Is that even what she wanted?

The drooling look on Hugh Sinclair's face told her all she needed to know. Normal was overrated. "Mr. Wayneright? I'm Jan Carson..."

* * *

Reese forced the elevator ceiling service hatch open, and pulled himself up. The elevator had stopped between floors so it wasn't too difficult to reach and force the doors open to the floor above.

He'd made it two levels from the basement before the power had been cut. He expected they'd be on the hunt for him and Trent. Why they waited until now was not clear. Tactically sloppy, if you asked him. Hopefully that, amongst many other questions, would be answered.

Reese launched down the last flights, moving with cautious but unfaltering speed to intercept who ever was orchestrating this attack.

John reached the garage entrance, gun in hand and peered around the corner. The parking garage had been plunged into an eerie darkness defused only by the hotel's red emergency strips. "Not sure if you can hear me, but I'm blind down here. What's his location?"

"...moving y..r direc... from northw... .bout..." Finch hoped something of his message got through.

Using what he could piece together, Reese crouched, slipping between the row of cars to his right and darted alone the east wall. He stopped, pressed up against a car door and strained to detect even the slightest noise.

The metallic slide of a rifle bolt echoed through the garage making it hard to establish any true location.

John chanced a look, hoping a movement might betray his enemy's position. Instantly, the dull plunk of silenced gunfire pelted the stone wall behind him. John instinctively tried to duck as shards of exploding concrete sprayed the cars bellow. The first couple shots had been just a warmup for the third, that clipped and spun him into the side of car.

He'd felt the searing heat of the bullet just graze his temple and scrambled out of his attackers line of fire. John rubbed his head, assessing the damage. "That was close." He mumbled, relieved it was only a shallow hit. But a shot like that.., in the dark.., meant he was facing someone prepared for bitch black warfare.

"John!... network is ... military... protocol platform ... big - twenty node. Don't know.. ow many involved. ...can't break... frequen... help you. ...calling Detec...for back up." Finch was desperate to get through. He'd heard what sounded like gunfire and was growing increasingly concerned by this compromised situation. The jammer was military grade, powerful and on a scale that left him truly worried. They weren't dealing with one or two men. No, this was linked to a larger network with encryption capabilities far beyond anything the mobs, or even Elias had. This was something new.

"No! Finch, keep them away. You, copy?" There were too many variables to risk Carter and Fusco getting catch in the crossfire, and things were about to get - messy. "Harold - did - you copy?"

"...opy but..." Finch heard enough to know Mr. Reese was ok, and didn't want help.

With his knife, John cut a long strip of his shirt. Quickly twisting it into a rope, he fed the fabric down the fuel fill pipe of an older Audi; he left just enough for a short fuse.

The flick of his lighter easily ignited the fine cotton, giving him only seconds to make safe cover. Two cars and van was all that separated him from the explosion that rocked the entire structure, ripping through the confined area with a bone-jarring domino effect.

He'd cut it close, not realizing how much the grazing bullet had affected his balance until he tried to run. But luckily, it worked.

It wasn't the concussive shock wave, intense heat, or the hurling chunks of mangled metal, that Reese had been after. It was the blinding flash that got the intended results - the telltale screams. Night vision gear wasn't always an advantage, and now he knew he was up against more than one enemy.

The cries of pain were all he needed to put the targets in his sights. Reese shoved from the van, pushing into a zeroing sprint as he quickly closed the distance.

The last pieces of burning debris were still landing, as two dark forms materialized through the swirling black smoke. The men staggered, still disoriented from their temporary blindness and blast shock.

Without hesitation, Reese delivered a fisted upper cut to the closest man and thrust a kick to the chest of the second. "Always nice to put faces to the people trying to kill me."

The first man stumbled backwards and into a parked car. The second angrily racked his night vision goggles from around his neck and moved on Reese.

The chest shot should have slowed him, but it hadn't phased the man. John frowned, studying the odd uniforms the men wore as he ducked a wide swing from the second man.

Both men were every bit his height, overly conditioned and minus a good fifteen years. Their precise attacks and relentless drive, screamed hammered-in training. Military dedication.

Toe to toe, the men matched Reese in skill and speed. Their combat style was a mixture of Systema, Krav Maga and Special Forces, dangerously similar to his own, and suggested a broad background. Add to that, the unusual gear and body armor, and you had the well-funded _Mercenary_.

They continued trading a barrage of shrewdly executed attacks. Reese tried to concentrate his blows to the men's exposed areas, because the ultra-thin armor they wore seemed to simply absorb any damage, and served only to frustrate and tire him.

Using both hands, Reese drove his knuckles into the second man's carotid arteries, disrupting his blood pressure and dropped him cold. The timing was perfect to narrowly avoid the other man's leaping attack.

The Merc spun a head-leveling kick, that Reese narrowly dodged. A string of damagingly accurate punches followed.

Reese countered with a blur of defensive blocks, stopping most of the shots, but the skill of this man was undeniable as he landed a kidney punch that caused Reese to arch forward and have his gun knocked from its holster.

_Dammit._ _He hated loosing his guns! _He thought with frustration while regained his footing.

Pissed, he spun around snapping a hand slice to the Merc's neck, finally slowing his mad advances and giving Reese a turn to retaliate.

John targeted the man's exposed areas, delivering surgical nerve strikes with debilitating efficiency. Searing hot pain faltered the big man, stopping his planned attack while Reese continued the assault.

The mercenary backed off, closely holding his throbbing arms to his body, but instead of giving up, as Reese expected, the men pivoted into a spinning kick. The momentum brutally connected with John's ribs, folding him to one knee.

It was a hard hit. If not for the buffering protection of his vest and his ability to focus passed the pain, he wouldn't have gotten up.

"Mr. Ree..., what's ..h..p..ening?"

Protecting his battered core, it wasn't much of a stretch to play the bested victim and bait the Mercenary in for a final attack. The man smiled a menacing grin as he approached. But it wasn't the easy kill he was expecting when John rammed his elbow into the nerve cluster that ran up the man's outer thigh.

Leg numbed, the Merc flopped to his hands, awkwardly blocking Reese's next kick, but somehow managing to hook John's foot and steal his balance.

This flash of an advantage afforded the man just enough time to drive from the ground and plant his head and shoulder, well into Reese's body, sending them both crashing backwards; a concrete pillar was all that kept the clashing men upright.

"Mr. Reese?" John heard Finch's concern, but didn't answer. Not that he could anyway..., since most of the air had just been knocked out of his lungs. Regardless, Reese wouldn't have revealed Finch to his attacker.

Ignoring this _inconvenient_ lack of oxygen, Reese decided to play dirty_,_ and end this stalemate. With everything he had, he hiked a crushing knee to the man's groin, followed with doubled fisted blow to the base of his skull.

For Finch's benefit, as much as his own, he wheezing out a snarky comment. "At least I know you're not wearing _'full'_ body armor. Now. Who do you work for?"

The man was curled on the ground, groaning and writhing in agony. "Take you're time...I've got all day." Reese sarcastically offered, glad to have the moment to catch his breath.

But the man had no intention of answering the question, nor of giving up. The Merc used his pain to cleverly disguise a reach for his backup gun. The weapon was almost pulled when Reese realized the trick and tackled the man.

Four hands grappled for control of the weapon, while battered bodies relentlessly struggled, enduring driving knees and hammering elbows.

Reese was on top until a whipping-buck pitched him forward, placing him dangerously inline with the gun's barrel. His attacker didn't miss the opportunity and pulled the trigger.

John yanked and twisted them into a roll just in time to send the bullet wide, hitting a nearby car instead of his intended head.

The muscle-bound Mercenary became even more determined, managing to pin Reese under him and use his solid weight to slowly leverage the gun back toward Reese's head. He had him dead in his sights.

_Not good. No coming back from a point-blank head shot. _ Reese had no choice but to try a risky move. Things had just gone from tough to dire, and he didn't see another way out.

With one hand, he released his grip on the gun, knowing his other would be no match against the man's two, but chanced a snaking grab for the fixed blade knife in the Merc's leg sheath.

In a seamless maneuver, John drew it and plunged it under the man's armor with a twisting thrust, cracking through his ribcage and into his lung, just as the gun went off.

The bullet ricocheted inches from John's head, momentarily dazing him with the piercing percussion.

The wounded man reared up, yanking the knife from his body with a growling scream of anger and agony. He unsteadily staggered then buckled to his knees.

Reese hurriedly collected the forgotten gun and climbed to his feet. He still needed to get some answers out of this guy before it was to late.

John wasn't sure how he missed it. Whether it was the distraction of his ringing ears, his screaming injuries or the irritation of nearly killing their best lead, but somehow, he missed the fact that the first Mercenary was still alive and now had a gun pointed right at him.

Reese only had a split second to get off one round before being ripped backwards by a brutal, explosive impact to his chest. The fuzzy thought that something had hit him equally as hard from behind, was his last as he drowned in the enveloping haze.

* * *

"Sir... The threat...has...been...neutralized..." Gurgling air and blood choked the Mercenary's speech.

"What's your status?"

"Bowman... is down. Dead. I'm... wounded.. not look...ing g...good."

"Sorry to hear that son. It's been an honor."

But the only response he got was the slapping-smack of death upon the cold concrete.

"Mathison, you copy that? Get a clean up crew in there now! This mess is unacceptable and needs to be contained!"

"Right away, Major."


	12. Chapter 12

Finch stood in rigid horror, blankly staring at his useless computer screens. This was ludicrous! He couldn't simply go on doing nothing. He'd listened to the disconcerting sounds of explosions, bodily contact and gunfire, all the while doing nothing and _not_ calling backup as Reese had asked. He understood why John didn't want the Detectives there, potentially getting in the way of his one-man demolish team, but now...now things had changed.

Even through their intermittent connection, Finch could piece together the intense battle, but when things turned suddenly, and terrifyingly silent... that's when he began to feel true panic.

Finch couldn't be certain that they hadn't just simply lost their connection. He certainly hoped that was the case, because to hear the nothingness was bone chilling.

The jamming device still left him blind, on all fronts, even unable to properly advise the Detectives as to what to expect...

"Detective Fusco, I'm sending you Mr. Reese's last location. We've lost contact and I believe he could use some help."

"Of course he could." Fusco rolled his eyes, what else was new. "What's Mr. Sunshine up against this time?"

"I'm afraid I can't offer much in this case, you'll just have to use the utmost caution. I believe the people that attacked Mr. Reese are the same ones he spotted following him earlier, and the ones responsible for the communications blackout centered around 57th and Park. They were extremely well equipped, and I suspect have military affiliations. I honestly have no idea how many there are."

"Shit, could you be more sketchy? Sounds like there's liable to be a whole army in there... You call Carter yet?"

"I sent her a text, but she's in the meeting with Sinclair. You'll need to hurry Detective and move quickly. I'm on my way as well."

"What about Boyd and the Triad trio?"

"Leave them." As much as Finch knew Mr. Reese would be angry with his decision to pull the Detectives off their current numbers, he knew John needed them.

* * *

"...I'm Miss Jan Carson..." The debonaire man took Carter's hand and placed a chased kiss of greeting upon it. Though he was tall, quite handsome, and had a sophisticated charm about him, Joss was repelled. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Please come, have a seat in my office." Sinclair softly glided a hand behind Joss and directed her in front of him, toward the first glass room on the left. She used this to her full advantage.

The skin-tight leather skirt embraced every inch of her well curved figure, allowing her to work her hips with hypnotic power. The low-cut, yellow silk of her blouse seductively dove off her shoulders, shimmering down her perfectly rounded cleavage with every step. The stupidly high heels...? Well.., they just kicked it all off and had him practically panting by they time they sat.

"This was an unexpected pleasure Miss Carson." Sinclair cooed, with his eloquently polished, English charm.

Joss bent forward, playing the position to its fullest and slowly pulled a thumb drive from her bag. "I'm just glad you were able to see me so quickly. You come highly recommended by a mutual client, Michelle Von." She paused just long enough to gauge his reaction. "I've recently come into a substantial inheritance and am interested in hearing about some... options." She flipped her hair with a come-hither smile - effectively repulsing herself, but doing the trick as he leaned forward with a swallow.

"Mrs. Von, you say? How is she doing... after the surprising news?"

Bastard was testing her, Carter realized, just as her phone beeped with an incoming text from Finch.

**Code2 Four Seasons garage John 10-53**

Her pulse spiked with immediate understanding - John was down and urgently needed help, quickly and quietly! Oh God.

It took all her training not to betray her cover and stay composed, but she didn't miss a beat. "Well, it fact she is quite happy. Their prenuptial agreement was very clear. She got everything in the event of any _indiscretions_ by her husband. Though the rather public announcement of his homosexuality still haunts her on occasion.., she's adjusting." Once an exuberant business tycoon, Stuart Von was now a ruined man thanks to this heartless ass.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. How may I be of service? And please.., call me Hugh."

Carter slid the thumb drive across the desk and let her fingers linger in his for just a moment. "It's all on there."

"Unfortunately, I do have a 1 o'clock today, and I don't want to rush this. Perhaps we could meet for a lunch appointment tomorrow?"

Finch had wanted her to find out his plans for tomorrow night. "Tomorrow's tough, I do tend to be freer in the evenings. Maybe around 10 o'clock? I know this fantastic place..."

True disappointment flashed across Sinclair's face. "Sadly, I have a prior engagement I can not miss. The following then?"

Carter painted a swooning smile on her lips. "I look forward to it. Do you have a number I should use?"

"Oh! Why, yes... of course! Where are my manners. Here is my cell." He scribbled his number then turned to pull a folder. Carter quickly cued her phone to pair with his.

"Here you are. My apologies again for rushing. I do hope everything has been... to your satisfaction."

Cater held back a laugh. Former spy or not, he was still just a predictable man.

"So far... everything has been." She forced a giggled as she stood. "Thank you Mr. Wayneright, I mean... Hugh. I'll be in touch soon."

Carter could barely keep herself from sprinting out of his office to the elevator. Once the doors slide shut, "Finch it's me. I'm on my way, what's happening?"

* * *

Fusco wasn't sure if he'd ever heard Finch have such an anxious edge to his voice. It amazed him how unsettling he actually found that. And damn... the man usually knew everything. What went wrong?

He switched on his lights and mashed the accelerator to the floor. "Guess I ought'a see what's got his fancy suit in a bunch." Lionel tried to ease his concerns with his usual flippant monolog, but it wasn't helping.

Fusco's eyes grew wide as he approached the scene. Black smoke billowed out from under the hotel as fleeing guests darted across the street in panicked alarm. Shattered glass lay in glistening piles along the walkways and surrounding lawn. He had to be careful to avoid the desperate people as he pulled his cruiser down into the smoking entrance.

Fusco squinted against the haze, willing his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness. But things became soberingly clear as soon as soon he pulled deeper into the parking garage. Or... what was left of it.

"Crap." It was one hell of a mess. Burning remnants of twisted cars littered the area, charred tires continued to spew acrid black smoke, swirled about by the concrete chunks dropping from the ceiling above. There were pieces, of god knew what, blown as far as he could see - which wasn't very far, admittedly.

Cautiously he drew his gun and began a guarded search. He needed to use his flashlight, but that would have just made him an easy target_ if..,_ any preps were still alive. Seeing Wonder-boy's handy-work made him doubt he'd find any survivors.

"John? John you in here?" He hoarsely whispered, subduing a beckoning cough. He couldn't see shit, he inwardly cursed, just as a slight noise directly behind him had him instinctively spinning with his gun aimed high.

"Jesus Carter! Could have shot you!" He hissed as he took in her unexpected appearance, but opted not to comment when he saw the worried look on her face.

"What the hell happened? Finch didn't know much." Carter assumed a shoulder to shoulder position with Fusco and swept the area for any signs of life or otherwise.

"I don't know anymore than you do." He whispered. "Apparently these guys used some kind of high-fangled military jammers to knock out communications and cut the power. But this looks like our boy's usual overkill MO." The pair moved through the black murk suddenly halted by the sounds of a car engine being shut off.

Finch found himself staring down the barrel of two guns. "It's only me Detectives. Have you located Mr. Reese?" He panted, still shaken by the dangerous greeting.

"No, no sign of him or any one else for that matter." Fusco muttered returning to the search.

Together, they picked their way down the middle of the garage, searching and straining to see any signs of life through the hanging smoke.

Finch tried to swallow back the surreal realization that being here was no less frustrating than sitting at his desk, helplessly listening to the perils Reese encountered.

Carter froze, "Fusco," she pointed to her right. The hint of four dark figures materialized through the cloaking haze. One lay face down in a pool of spreading blackness, the other was bonelessly slumped at the base of a pillar and the third man lay draped across the hood of a car, all unmoving except for the fourth. The fourth man was leaning over the body on the car.

Carter shoved Finch down as she and Fusco took cover behind the nearest vehicle. "Freeze! NYPD!"

The shadowed figure spun low, and in an instant, vanished into the darkness. "What the hell?"

The three slowly moved from the cars and approached the scene. Finch couldn't move any father. He was frozen by the grizzly nightmare of three lifeless bodies scattered before him.

Carter knelt next to the man on the floor. "It's not him." She choked out. "This one's dead."

Apprehension mounted as Fusco moved to the man at the base of the pillar. His head was slumped forward. In the dark, he had the same hair cut, size and black clothes. He didn't particularly like John Reese, in fact, considered him a pain in his ass most of the time, but the work he did was invaluable. And to be honest, it was because of him he felt like he'd gotten the chance to straighten up his life... He was the reason he could now proudly look his son in the eye. So he really didn't want to find him dead.

Fusco checked for a pulse, nothing.., then raised the man's head. He was definitely not wearing a suit. It was a good thing too, because whoever this was used his face to stop a bullet. "It ain't him. This one's dead too."

Both Fusco and Carter moved to the farthest and last body, immediately recognizing the tall form and long limbs sprawled across a severely dented hood and deeply embedded in the caved windshield.

"Finch, we found him!" Fusco breathed and looked at a silent Carter. He knew something was up with her and Mr. Happy for a while now. Seeing her frozen with fear broke his heart. "I got this." He whispered.

Tentative fingers searched Reese's neck for a pulse. Fusco bowed his head in relief. "He's alive!" Quickly, he looked him over for immediate injuries, noting the drizzling blood at Reese's temple and the large, unusual burn cluster on his chest.

Lionel leaned in to study the damage. "Shit! What the hell did that?"

Carter was spurred forward and helped part John's shirt, indescribably relieved to find he'd worn his vest and equally confused by the lack of bullets.

"Hey man. You still with us?" Fusco patted Reese's face, but got no response.

"Let's get his vest off." Carter hurriedly pulled the velcro straps of the vest, laying it's heavy weight to one side.

"Damn! What ever it was, that had to have hurt." Fusco looked up at Finch.

"How bad is he, Detective?" Harold forced his feet to move.

"He's out cold. Took a heavy shot of somethin', vest stop it though, and luckily the windshield cushioned his landing. But I'm pretty sure Mr. Happy ain't gonna be to _happy_ when he wakes up." Fusco's relief was evident with his wise crack.

The words washed over Finch, easing his fears enough to rally his focus. "Then we don't have anytime to waste. We need to get him out of here. Also, collect anything you might find, like a computer, phone, weapons..."

Finch began a quick search of the area for any part of the transmitting device he knew had to be there. The signal had been extremely complex with shocking range and military grade encryption, but it had to be networked.

With his eyes darting back and forth, he hobbled around a few of the closer cars when something wedged, just under a car's tire, caught his eye. He gently grasped the charred, laptop-sized box and shoved it into his bag, then hurriedly caught up to Fusco and Carter moving Reese to his car.

Finch's apologetic tone pulled them from their work. "I hate to say this Detectives, but we also need to take the bodies."

Fusco's surprise morphed into annoyed compliance. "Of course you do, why am I not surprised!"

"Finch we've already compromised this crime scene enough as it is. What the hell do we need the bodies for?" Carter's conflicted anger was more than evident.

"We need to keep whoever they work for, in the dark until we can learn something about who it is we're dealing with. For now, just run their prints and DNA." Finch explained.

"And after?" Carter couldn't believe she was going along with this.

"Don't do anything with them just yet, I'm sure Mr. Reese is going to want to have a closer look."

"And him? A hospital?" Fusco tilted his head toward Reese in the back of Finch's car. Then looked at Carter who was already shaking her head, 'no.'

"Just follow me Detectives."

* * *

"Sir, we have another problem... We are at the incident site. Two NYPD cruisers showed up almost immediately, along with a third unmarked car. Maybe a Fed? They just left."

"How the hell could they have gotten there that fast? Communications are still out... And why would they leave a crime scene so fast? These aren't normal cops."

"Bowman said they got pinged, so that guy wasn't working alone..."

"Dammit! This is a serious mess! The last thing we want is get tangled up with the authorities or some black ops crap. What about our men and the hardware?"

"Gone Sir.. There is lots of blood and destruction, but no bodies or gear."

"Fuck! Okay.., get out of there. And Mathison, double eyes on our targets. I don't need anymore outside interferences. I don't have to tell you what's riding on this going smoothly."

"No Sir. Copy that."


	13. Chapter 13

"Yes Detective?"

"Finch? What the hell happened out there? Your vague explanation doesn't cut it. Who are those men?" Carter sat on the couch in Reese's loft, next to Fusco, and opposite Finch who was sidetracked examining the charred device he'd recovered.

Carter looked over at John lying on his bed. One of Finch's doctors had been waiting for them when they arrived. He was a pleasant-looking middle eastern man in his mid fifties, very skilled and thorough, but didn't say much. It did seem like he knew both John and Finch pretty well. Carter imagined this doctor was much like the other two she'd met, and figured there were quite a few more out there - people happy to repay their debits of gratitude. A beneficial arrangement given how dangerous John's work was.

Bruised chest, lung and three cracked ribs, plus a probable concussion was the result of John's run-in with the mysterious soldiers. The Doctor assured them he would be alright, given time and rest.., but it gave her little comfort seeing him still unconscious and knowing, soon as he _was_ up, he won't slow down or rest.

Finch pulled her from her thoughts and responded in a hushed tone. "We have no idea, Detective."

"So what do we know?"

"Earlier, while following Erinson and Trent, Mr. Reese became aware of a suspicious van tailing them. After Trent led him to his hotel, John thought he'd lost them. However, as soon as he opened Trent's safe, I noticed another signal hacking into the system. It would seem Mr. Reese elevated his threat level when he entered Trent's room. Directly after they cut the power, blacked-out communications for an eight mile radius, and attacked."

"Eight miles? How's that even possible?" Carter was well aware of military jammers, she'd used her fair share, but something mobile, with this kind of range? That was unheard of.

"Well, that is a question I'm hoping will be answered by this." Finch wiggled the device in his lap. "It's definitely advanced military."

"Did he find anything in the room?" Fusco asked.

"In fact he did, some schematics of top-secret weaponry designed for covert and surgical uses." Fusco's frown made him elaborate. "Weapons that would make assassinations look like natural causes."

"Are you kidding me?!" Fusco shifted causing the couch leather to squeak. "So where is this guy Trent, now?"

"Gone I'm afraid. I haven't been able to locate him again."

"And you probably won't..." Three surprised faces turned to find Reese standing there.

"John! My God!" Carter quickly got up to coax Reese to the nearest chair.

"Mr. Reese, you shouldn't be up yet. The Doctor said..."

But Reese cut him off. "I'm fine."

"What do you mean we won't?" Fusco pushed.

Reese collected his strength and started at the beginning. "He appeared after the fight..."

"So that was him, running off." Carter broke in before Reese continued.

He nodded. "Yes. He wanted to know who was after him. Apparently my killing of the two Mercenaries, piqued his interest enough not to kill me - right away. l think that's when you showed up." John paused as the room spun. He ignored. "I told him we thought his life was in danger, that he wasn't the only one these guys were following and asked him why that might be."

"And?" Fusco eagerly prompted.

"He just laughed, and said he guessed there were a lot of people who might want an assassin dead." Reese knew the feeling. "I told him I knew about W.A.R."

"Did he offer anything?" Finch hoped, receiving only a slight nod from Reese.

"It's an annual event of top-secret and futuristic weapons; stolen plans put into production and offered to a very elite group of buyers, by an anonymous source."

"Stolen from who? Our government?" Finch grew more concerned.

"He didn't say or didn't know..." Reese answered.

"So he doesn't think these guys are connected? If he did, he wouldn't have stuck around this long." Carter volunteered answering her own question.

Reese shook his head. "Said he'd been to a few Events, that they always have a heavy detail of guards, but nothing outside the event. He didn't recognize the two I took down, as either the ones he marked after arriving in New York, or earlier today. Which means there are more..." Reese closed his eyes bracing against the growing pain in his chest.

"I didn't see anyone when I was following Boyd." Fusco offered.

Carter agreed. "No. Nothing unusual at Sinclair's office either."

"Not surprising... Trent is a surveillance expert." Reese's energy was waning. It was all he could do to breath, and his head felt close to exploding. "Finch...what about..." He tried to ask Harold about the device he was holding, but failed when his vision suddenly spun and grayed to black.

"Mr. Reese!" Finch leaned forward slowing John's boneless decent. "Help me get him back to bed!"

Once they had him laid out, Finch gave him the shot of Tramadol, the doctor had instructed he administer before the pain level became too much. In John's case however, they were already behind the eight ball.

Carter stoically stood at the foot of his bed until Fusco softly called her over. "Hey. We should get back and do some research ourselves. We can't do anything else here."

"I know." Reluctantly she agreed, but turned to Finch. "Call if you need anything or something changes."

A nagging feeling made Finch look at his watch, realizing with shocked frustration that it was 5:02 pm; he'd nearly forgotten about Stark.

"Actually Detectives. How does dinner sound?"

* * *

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the finer foods. Hell, he liked a good grass-fed lamb as much as the next guy. The part he couldn't swallow was the outrageous price tag, laughably small portions, and the fact that he had to wear a dress jacket and tie just to walk through the damn door.

If only he could have flashed is badge and told that pompous maître d' what he'd really like to do with his tie... Then again, he reminded himself, he wasn't paying and they weren't here for fun.

Fusco courteously held the chair for Carter, then sat on the same side, so both had a clear view of Miss Stark.

Stark was sitting four tables over against the wall. She had a menu, but paid it no attention. Carter leaned toward Fusco. "Looks like she's waiting."

"S'what I was thinking. I thought 'Glasses' said she'd made reservations for one?"

"He did, maybe a last-minute thing?" As if to answer their question, an older gentleman, sporting at least a three thousand dollar suit and a fedora, approached her table. Removing his hat, he gave a slight bow of obvious introduction, then seated himself.

"So who's this guy?"

At a lose, Carter shook her head with a slight hitch of her shoulders. "Sure doesn't look happy. Use you're the phone Finch gave you, see what they're saying."

"I'm quite impressed with your résumé, Miss Stark. I believe this could be a supremely beneficial arrangement." The older man said.

"I'm glad you think so, but let me do you favor and clear something up... I work alone. You need me, you hire me. You have clients with a job, get your brokering fee, and have them contract me. I don't deal with middlemen."

The older man, leaned back staring at her for a moment as if choosing his next words carefully. "I think you misunderstand. So let me return the favor, and be equally clear. I'm no one's middleman. You would work for me, exclusively. And I-am-not-asking."

Stark's complexion redden with anger. "What in the world makes you think I'd just work for you?"

"The fact, my dear Sandra, I shall have to killed if you refuse." The man spoke the last words as a matter-of-fact promise."

Stark slowly stood and leaned over the table, holding him with an intense stare. "You can try, Mr. Gideon."

"That's too bad Miss Stark. I must say, it will be a tragic loss of great talent."

"Suck it old man." She spit and stalked passed the waiter. "He's paying."

Carter casually, but quickly stood. "Meet me outside..."

* * *

The rain had been increasing throughout the day. Any _normal person_ knew, if they were going to stay dry in New York... you used an umbrella or got soaked. Funny how the bad guys were always too cool. Idiots...

Two, rain-soaked men leaned against the end of the brick building. They did their best to look unobtrusive, but only managed to look like the plotting, drowned-rats Carter knew them to be.

Stark was heading straight for them. Carter unzipped her purse and gripped her gun concealed inside. She heard Fusco move in behind her.

The taller and furthest of the two men, stomped out his cigaret and moved from the wall into Stark's path.

Stark stopped. "It's not a good idea to say 'no,' to Mr. Gideon." The man growled.

"How would you know? Not like you have the balls to try." Stark bit back.

"Bitch." The answer came with a flick of a switch blade, just as the second man moved behind her.

Carter's heart was pounding as she watched the men closing in on Stark. She increased her pace. "Hey! You forgot your purse!" Carter held hers up in distraction. The closest man turned to find her gun aimed right at his face. "NYPD - asshole!" At that moment, Carter caught the peripheral blur of a slowing vehicle, and braced for a possible drive-by. But as soon as she heard Fusco yell at the second guy, the van sped away.

"Drop the knife or I'll drop it for you." Fusco ordered. "Both of you, face up against the wall!"

The blindsided men complied. Fusco cuffed them both and turned to Carter. "You saw that too right?" Fusco asked under his breath.

"Sure did." Carter said, realizing what they'd both seen. "I got them. Get the old guy," then turned to Stark.

"Thank you." Sandra said to Carter and Fusco as he passed. "Not sure what I would have done." But all three knew _what_ she would have done.., and who had actually gotten their asses saved. It wasn't Stark.

"What's your name?" Carter probed.

Stark uncomfortably swallowed. Where had these cops come from? How did they get wind of Gideon? "Julie Simons." She lied.

Nice. Carter so wanted to ask her for ID, catch her at the lie and take her in, but knew they were only supposed to assess the situation, not get too involved. "So what's the deal with the old guy? We heard him threaten you."

"If that's what you think you heard... I didn't. He's just some old geezer. Now, thanks for stopping the muggers, but I really have to be going."

Carter knew she couldn't stop her, but this wasn't over. "Julie. I believe you could still be in danger."

"It's New York... who isn't." She called over her shoulder. "But thanks for the concern officer, I'll be fine." Stark turned and continued down the street.

Joss hoped so. She also hoped she didn't just make a mistake letting her go... Finch had better be right about this.


	14. Chapter 14

Heavy rain echoed through the loft with a methodical tapping, suggesting the night's predicted storm had finally hit. Dammit... Was it night already? Was it even the same day?

His chest hurt like hell, but at least the head ache had subsided to a dull hum. Reese rolled up and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the room to catchup.

That's when he realized it wasn't just the rain he'd been hearing, Finch was close; the keyboard tapping said so. "You get the number of that bus?" Reese groaned.

"Afraid not Mr. Reese, though I may have a lead." Finch stiffly turned from the kitchen bar, trying to judge Reese's condition before delving back into the business at hand. "Glad to see you're up."

John slowly stood, protectively clutching an arm around his aching ribs and carefully moved beside Finch at the bar. "That's debatable... What are you doing?"

Finch turn back to his laptop and the dissected device littering the counter top. "I recovered this from your attackers. Some of these microchips are not simply microelectromechanical systems, but implement very specialized nanotechnology, which narrows their possible origins to only a couple exclusive military domain companies in Japan. I should be able to establish exactly where they came from, and more importantly.., who purchased them."

"Be nice to know who those guys are." Reese picked up a chunk and held it up to the light, until a twinge ended the effort. "How long was I out?"

"Just over three hours."

Reese looked at this watch. 8:45 pm. "Thought you had a date?"

Finch huffed a laugh. "The Detectives went to dinner with Stark. Well, not _with_ Stark, but rather..."

"Finch.., I get it. What happened?"

"They had a rather interesting encounter with an industrial real-estate magnate, by the name of Mr. Thomas Gideon. It would seem Mr. Gideon was attempting to recruit Miss Stark's services.., on an exclusive basis. When she refused, he had a couple of his men try to change her mind."

"That was a mistake..." Reese muttered. "Did they survive?"

Finch chucked at the ironic statement. "Detectives Carter and Fusco saved them, yes. Stark left unscathed and without divulging any useful information. However your friends made another appearance."

"Really." John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"In fact, both Detectives describe a van pulling up just as Stark was coming under attack, only to watch it speed off once they intervened and Stark's safety was clear. White van, no plates."

Reese rolled eyes in exasperation. "So they are protecting them. They've had the means and plenty of opportunities to take them out, so if these guys aren't the danger..." he paused, "then they're working together. Trent lied and we're back to square-one. No closer to knowing why the machine gave us their numbers."

Reese grabbed the edge of the bar against a sudden wave of pain. "Dammit. _What_ the hell did he shoot me with?"

Finch shoved away from the charred pieces of hardware strewn down the bar's length, and pointed at John's vest laying at the end. "Have a look for yourself."

Reese moved to the vest, scrutinizing the damage as he flipped it open. "By the size..., I'd say a modified 45 caliber, but this wasn't a normal bullet. It disintegrated. I'm guessing a tungsten-nytrilium composite core. I used to use something similar for close range combat situations, where further penetration needed to be avoided, but they must have used a secondary explosive to pack the punch that thing had," he flipped the vest over again, "leaving no ballistics evidence."

John wasn't aware Finch had left until he returned with some pills. "What's that?"

"Pain relief, Mr. Reese. This situation is evolving too quickly to have you side lined by stubbornness. Take them."

Reese couldn't argue he was 'fine.' Finch was right. They had no idea what they were up against. "Fine." He begrudgingly took them, then began rehashed their findings.

"So they're protecting our numbers by eliminating anyone that threatens them. They use military grade, short-range weapons to cut collateral damage and traceable evidence, and jam transmissions to avoid detection..."

"It sounds like our numbers are indeed the perpetrators and pivotal to some plan the soldiers are trying to keep on schedule." Finch looked at Reese.

"When I got in the way, they didn't hesitate to take me out. These guys aren't playing around, whatever it is, it's not going to be good."

"Agreed. Mr. Reese, given the situation, I thought it prudent to retrieve everything from the scene. That includes the bodies, since I assumed you'd want a closer look."

"You run them through the system?"

"There were no matches. As far as I can tell, they don't exist anymore than you do, Mr. Reese."

"Real enough." John pointed out, placing a tentative hand to his chest. "These guys had some serious skills Finch. They were disciplined, all business, and used a mixture of combat styles from around the world. Their equipment goes beyond any standard military issue... That's why I pegged them for hired Mercenaries."

Finch processed that for a moment. "So not only are their identities unknown, but now you believe they've been hired by another unknown source?"

Reese simply nodded. "How are we looking for tomorrow tonight?"

"We should be able to track our numbers using their phone signals. But I'll attempt to reverse engineer the jamming signal to keep track of them in any event."

"I'll keep visual contact just in case." Reese offered.

"You sure you're up to it? And what will you do once you get where ever it is they are going, Mr. Reese?"

John ignored the first part of Finch's question. It wasn't like he had a choice. "Well Harold, I'll just have to think of something when I get there. For now, I need a hot shower and some food."

"And some rest, Mr. Reese, it's going to be a long day..."

* * *

Carter hung up. The good news: John sounded like his normal self and was up-and-around. The bad news: he _was,_ back to his normal self and wanted them to bring the bodies.

She still had a real moral issue with removing such crucial _evidence_ from a crime scene. God - did she just referred to the bodies as _crucial evidence_? How could she have this let happen?

But she knew the answer...

This was just another one of those incidents of _gray_; the shades of which she'd have to learn to deal with, to continue doing _the work._ Who knew that the good-guys would end up wearing so much damn gray and not white.

Annoyed, Carter walked over to Fusco's desk. She leaned over, irritation clear in her hushed words. "So...I just got a call... We have to meet you know _who, _with the you know _whats, _in the trunk of your car."

Fusco innocently looked up at her. "Hey, don't beat yourself up. You know we didn't have a choice about that right? When 'Glasses' asks you to jump, you just do. Right? I know they're creepy.., not the bodies," he corrected, "I mean Finch and Reese, but they're intentions are good.., usually, and they get results."

She was wrong to be venting; he really was right. It just irked her that most of the time they did what was asked of them with little to no information preceding the requests and when those requests left her morally conflicted - it just sucked. "Yeah, I know... blind faith. Come on, buy ya some coffee on the way."

"You know where we're goin'?" Fusco asked as they left the precinct.

"Some old warehouse at the end of 13th. Knowing John, some place with no prying eyes."


	15. Chapter 15

"This it?" Fusco scrunched his face in a look of doubt. It was a dilapidated, old eyesore of a warehouse. Most of its windows were either cracked, broken or missing, and the side was nothing but a mess of streaks, upon streaks, of oxidized rust and a million layers of faded graffiti.

"Think so..., it's the right address. Pull inside, over there." Carter pointed to the half-open loading door, midway down the weed infested driveway.

They pulled into the long building, met by haphazard piles of old pallets, scantily dotted by faint sunbeams reaching from the broken windows above. Swirling dust was the only evidence of movement when they got out of the car.

Fusco complained. "So guess we beat him here, again? Loves to make us wait for him..."

"Hello Detectives."

"Geez! Anybody ever drop dead from you doing that?" Fusco clutched his chest in mock pain.

"Lots." Reese remembered. The skill had come in handy.

Fusco paled, knowing he meant it. "Well I for one, say you wear a bell from now on."

John ignored the comment, instead moving toward the trunk and Carter. "Good job manipulating Sinclair, by the way. Finch said the link was good. It seems you have a promising career as a spy." He softened his eyes recognizing she was up tight.

She self-consciously laughed. _Damn him and those eyes._ She wasn't about to let him get off that easy. "Thanks." Irrational as it was, she was still pissed at him for getting hurt. For scaring her. "Good job on wearing your vest. Glad you don't just _dish_ _out_ advice."

Reese knew he deserved that; he couldn't blame her for being mad. "It all worked out." He nonchalantly offered, trying to down-play the whole thing.

"Hey, remember me? Can we get on with this? Some of us have real jobs..." Fusco complained impatiently shifting.

"Feeling left out Fusco? There's a couple of bodies in the trunk to keep you company." Reese replied popping the trunk. "Help me get them out, Lionel."

Fusco glared daggers at John as he grabbed hold of the feet of first one. He did kind of feel sorry for him when he saw the effort it took to hide the pain the simple motion caused. "You figure out what they shot you with?"

Reese knelt to one knee and began a thorough exam of the Mercenaries' body armor and clothes as he removed them. "Yeah.., exploding bullets." John off handedly responded.

"You mean like the US Marshals use on planes?" Carter broke in. She hadn't heard that bit of information and scrutinized John's movements more intently.

"Close. But trust me when I say these were... improved."

Fusco crouched down next to John. "What do ya hope to find anyway?"

"I won't know until I find it." Reese dismissing answered, turning one of the guns over for a closer look.

Carter pulled back one of the guys' shirts. "Hey, I've seen those tattoos before. When I was in Iraq." She looked at Reese. "We were joined by a group of specialists - outside hires. It was a particularly bad hostage situation involving the top execs of a private oil company. We couldn't openly be involved, so the company hired these guys to help."

Reese finished cutting off the guy's shirt and nodded in agreement. "These tattoos are unique to a Mercenary military group out of South Africa." John rolled to the balls of his feet. "Everything fits the profile - the skills, no records, no DNA, face or fingerprints on file. They're ghosts, just the way those groups like them." He taped his ear wig, "Finch?"

"Yes Mr. Reese, I heard."

"Might help to narrow your search to any groups out of that region." John got to his feet and began a slow pace around the bodies. "But their equipment... it goes beyond well funded. In fact, there isn't anything like these guns, bullets or armor available, even through black market channels. This gun uses DNA dependent, biometric programing and the armor is made of nano-altered cellulose fiber. I've heard about similar prototypes, but nothing in the field of this sophistication. Whoever hired them is uniquely well sourced. Bet we know who..."

"W.A.R." John heard in stereo from both Carter and Finch.

"That'd be my bet." Reese nodded.

"So let me get this straight. These guys are military mercenaries? We've got a bunch of heavily armed and insanely skilled soldiers, hired by some mysterious employer, running loose in the city to do who know's what?" Fusco stated. "Hey kinda like you, Wonder-boy."

Reese slowly pinned Fusco with an icy glare. "I don't help people for the money. Unlike you, Fusco."

"Hey! Should'a known you couldn't take a joke. Anyway, I help you two for free! So quick busting my balls!"

Carter broke in, "If you boys are done... How does all this tie into our five names?"

Reese turned his attention back to the gun he held in his hand. "We think they're working together."

"To do what?"

"That's the question I intend to answer tonight."

"Why? What're you planning now?" Carter worried.

If his dealings with these two Mercenaries was any indication, he had a feeling tonight would prove to be a definite challenge. He'd likely be up against a good number of pissed off men, dangerously equal to his skill level.

He had no idea what to expect, where he was going, or what the situation would be once he got there.

Somethings couldn't be planned for, that was just the nature of the job. _Quickly assess and adapt as things developed._ That's what he'd been taught to do, and honestly, he'd always been comfortable relying on his spur of the moment adaptabilities. Worrying about others had no place in the equation and wouldn't leave him free to do that. Even Carter wasn't trained for this class of adversary, so he kept his plans to himself.

Reese's face was neutral, revealing nothing. "Just gathering more intel, I'll be in touch." He met Carter's doubting look with a self-assured smile and turned to leave.

"And what about the bodies?"

Reese pivoted back toward Fusco, "I have every confidence you'll figure something out, Lionel."

Fusco humphed, "Son of a bitch, see what I gotta deal with. He do this to you?"

Distractedly, "Na Fusco, just you..." her attention was on Reese vanishing into the shadows, sure he was up to something... again. "Come on, let's call these in as a random body dump and get back. I want to see what we can find on this 'Event.'"


	16. Chapter 16

Well hidden beneath their library headquarters, Reese strode through Finch's private collection of cars. His gaze drifted over each, until settling on what he wanted; one of Finch's more.., nondescript cars.

The older lincoln appeared ignored amongst all of its perfectly waxed neighbors. Its dark paint with slightly oxidized, sported no frills and even had a couple dings to complete the _forgettable_ package. Reese had him kept this one around just for that reason.

John climbed into the old car, slowly idling it passed the impressive row of fine vehicles. He smiled appreciating Finch's taste. Everyone of them had their special purposes, which he did on occasion get to enjoy.

He could understand Finch's love for cars, because he shared the same affinity for his weapons. Each one had its specialty, which he _often_ enjoyed.

After spending the day with Finch, keeping tabs on their numbers from afar, Reese returned to his loft to prepare for the evenings Event.

He'd taken his time to pick the best weapons. With the uncertainty of the situation, it felt reassuring to have their familiar weights strategically placed around his body.

His HK 9mm and 45 Colt 1911 fit naturally in their concealed holsters. They became warm against his skin sitting to either side of his spine for a quick left and right-handed pull. Strapped to his ankle, was his ever reliable and compact Ruger SR9c. Can't be too careful, he thought, remembering a number tight spots it had come in handy.

Next, he slipped a couple of knives into the inner lining of his coat, but to truly round out the evening, he'd grabbed a couple flash bangs and percussion grenades.

Weapons were one of the few things he'd ever allowed himself to indulge in. He found a certain beauty in their deadly charm, while appreciating their proven usefulness.

The last piece of his necessary ensemble was the tux Finch had delivered to his loft. Knowing Harold..., he was pretty certain that damn thing was exorbitantly expensive, probably costing more than his weapons combined. But the fit was undeniable. It followed the lines of his body flatteringly, comfortably conforming to his shape in all the proper places, despite the multitude of hidden pockets Finch always had his tailor add for him.

Reese would almost go so far as to say, he looked good - were he the type to care.

* * *

"Mr. Reese are you on your way to the airport?"

"I'm heading there now. Wanted to get there early, check things out and see if I can make any of our new players. You get anything on them yet?"

"Nothing definitive as yet. But I am starting to pick up that unique static. Lets hope they are using the same ANDVT and encryption protocols as before. With the cypher chip from the Mercenaries' hardware, it should allow me to decode a good portion of their communications. They don't appear to be using the JFK security network, but I'll make sure you remain unseen, regardless."

"Thanks and thanks for the Tux, Finch."

"No need Mr. Reese. I didn't think your lack of appropriate attire should be the reason your plan failed."

Reese smiled at Harold's attempted joke as he pulled into the terminal parking garage. He found a spot between two other, equally nondescript cars and backed in. The Red Garage was the last parking area heading back out of the JFK terminal, a straight-shot for whoever picked up their numbers.

"Nothing out of the ordinary so far." He adjusted his telephoto lens and slowly panned the area. "You picking up anything?"

"I'm still cleaning up the transmission. From what I can make out, they are talking about..._'timing...,18:00 hundred,'_ something about '_preparations'_... Just vague, out of context references, I'm afraid."

"Well, keep at it. There are quite a few people starting to collect at the loading site. They've been waiving the regular airport shuttles on. Wait a minute... here's a private shuttle bus pulling in. Plate number 5 Nancy 06894."

* * *

"Carter here..."

"Good evening Detective. It would be much appreciated if you could run this plate for us."

"Sure hold on..." Carter entered the number and scanned the results. "What's John up to?"

"I'm afraid we haven't found out anything new."

Carter noted Finch's obvious evasion of the question. "Ok, here... it's registered to a fleet rental in Brooklyn 2000 West St. (718)555-3800."

"Thank you Detective, we'll be in touch."

"Wait!" _Son-of-bitch! _"Stop doing that!"

* * *

"Mr. Reese, the passenger shuttle, and nine others just like it, were all rented three days ago by an international shipping corporation, Trans Global Inc. Looking into them now."

"I'm watching the eighth shuttle being loading up. That makes about two-hundred guests including Stark, Sinclair and Boyd. And despite my warning, Trent is here too. How's the signal Finch?"

"I'm still able to track them, but there's an increasing level of interference."

"So they're heading toward the jamming device?"

"I assume so..." Finch paused in concentration. "The transmission chatter..., it just referred to_ 'four targets in route.'"_

"Targets? If they're working together... why refer to them as targets?" John frowned.

"Mr. Reese... whatever you're planning you may want to hurry. Their signals just vanished. Every camera in that area of town is also being disrupted." Finch's voice was tinged with alarm. "I can't see what's happening."

"Finch, I need to get on one of those shuttles..."

* * *

"Sir, four targets have checked in and are arriving now. The other was confirmed in route for pickup."

"Good. Any sign of trouble?"

"No. Everything is clear."

"Good. You do..., you take care it."

"Copy Sir.


	17. Chapter 17

"Finch! Where's Erinson?"

"He's in the taxi pulling in now. You should be seeing him in about ten seconds."

Reese rolled his car forward, blocking the only thoroughfare to the loading site. "Take care of the camera's Finch."

"What are you going to do Mr. Reese?"

"Still working on that... " John's answer sounded breathlessly rushed.

"Hey dick-head! Wanna get that hunk'a shit outta the way! Today!"

The taxi driver's expected reaction helped sell the charade as John popped the hood of his car and over played a look of confused exacerbation. "I'm very sorry... It just stalled... You'll have to back out." John knew Erinson would choice to walk rather than stay in the taxi; he was closer from here.

With a _one-finger solute, _the cabby angrily backed out, leaving Erinson alone with his bag, and Reese.

Reese used his most apologetic smile. "Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me push my car into the parking spot. I've got a shuttle to catch and can't leave it blocking the road like this."

Their number checked his watch. "Sure.., just gotta make it quick." He dropped his bag and grabbed a fender.

John smiled, trying hard to look thankful and mask his sinister intent. Erinson was very similar to him in height and build, his hair was dark, cut short and neat to go with his sharp tuxedo. John hoped it would be enough. "So you're not from around here." It wasn't a question.

"Why do you say that?" Erinson answered with suspicion.

"Because you're helping me." John plainly answered.

The man relaxed a bit laughing at the implied stereotype. "Yeah, always heard that about New Yorkers. No, I'm a west coast guy." Erinson noted John's formal attire and decided to probe a bit. "So I gotta ask.. why the tux?"

"Actually I'm on my way to a...'_Tool'_ Convention. Thinking you might be heading that way too?" Reese smiled, motioning to Erinson's attire while locking the car and casually closing the hood.

"You guessed it. So is this your first or have you been to one before?" Erinson asked.

"No. This is my first, not really sure what to expect." Well at least he was honest about that part, John mused.

"I remember my first. Man.., are you going to be blown away! Their stuff is unbelievable - I don't know where to begin! You'll see..."

"Well, I'm looking forward to it."

"Hey! We'd better hurry - last pickup. Sorry about your car, hope you can fix the problem."

"Thanks, but I think the _problem's_ been fixed." A look of confusion flashed across Erinson's face along with Reese's fist. The man stumbled back quickly collected into a solid choke hold. John held him firm, waiting out his last of struggles before rendering him unconscious.

Reese drug his slumped body around to the back of the car and laid him in the trunk. After a quick search of his pockets and bag, John found four guns and two knives, but nothing worth keeping.

"Finch, I'm heading for the shuttle now. You'd better send Fusco for the car. See what he can get from him."

"You're posing as Erinson? Mr. Reese what if they recognize you?"

"I admit... it's not one of my best plans, but we're out of time. Let's just hope I got the ones that saw me. Erinson's shuttle code should get me in, work your magic and connect the dots, Finch." John hoped it was that simple.

"I haven't been able to reestablish a connection. I'm going to try to piggy back our signal on their's, hopefully keep our's open. But Mr. Reese... I don't need to tell you, this may be a hornets nest. Are you sure you shouldn't call the detectives for backup?"

"Finch I'm better off alone, not knowing what I'm up against is tricky enough. I might have to move fast and..."

"Understood... Just please, be careful and don't take any unnecessary risks, you really are going in completely blind."

Reese shared Finch's concerns, but this was what he'd signed up for. "We don't have a choice, Harold. This may be our last chance to figure out what's going on and stop it before it's to late. Don't worry, I've taken precautions."

Finch sat back with a swallow... He had no idea what that possibly meant, but he'd learned never to under-estimate his resourcefulness.

* * *

As Reese suspected, with the code, getting aboard the shuttle had posed no difficulties.

"I'm in." John whispered. Though the exuberant chatter of the twenty-something guests would have masked almost anything.

They quickly left the congested traffic of the airport freeways and downtown areas, trading it instead, for the more sparse and undeveloped industrial zones along the river.

Of course Reese recognized the old back alley warehouses and forgotten shipyards; unsavory characters always thought these places to be the perfect off-the-grid locations to conduct business. The rest of the passengers, however, seemed to enjoy this great new unknown - leading him to believe the show hadn't been held in this location before.

Their shuttle pulled off into an over-grown, weed infested lot with nothing more than an old shed about three hundred meters in. "Doesn't look like much... Wait, hold on."

"What .. it M.. .eese?

Dammit. They were already loosing their connection. He relayed what he was seeing despite not knowing if Finch could hear him.

Unless he was watching one hell of a magic trick.., that was no ordinary old shed. John watched the two shuttles in front of them, impossibly pull into a building barely large enough for one. This complicated things. "Finch, they've got an underground set-up."

* * *

"...undergrou.. set-..." Was all Finch could make out.

"Mr. Reese?" He couldn't boost their signal any farther. "John, can you hear me?"

The jamming device must have a rotating sequence. Finch muttered to himself, as he battled the infernal technology trying to reestablish their link.

Suddenly his finger's stilled their determined work. Finch slowly rose, the look of shocked dread blanketing his face as he intently listening to his modified receiver decrypt the incoming transmission.

"Sir, the last of the five targets have checked-in, and are in route."

"Excellent. But keep everyone alert. We have to assume we may have been compromised by yesterday's incident. Once the targets have entered the complex, make sure you stick to the plan. They will be first to the holographic chamber. Make sure it's set to maximum and take them there."

"Copy that."

It was a trap! And one which Mr. Reese and their numbers had just walked into.

"Mr. Reese abort... John! John it's a trap!" He prayed John had heard him.

* * *

"Oh shit! Fusco! Take a look at this..." Carter spread the six opened files across her desk for Lionel's inspection.

"All these missing person cases date back to this date. Five years running." Fusco straightened, realization mirroring Carter's.

Carter clenched her teeth with a nod. "And that's just the ones that were reported. On a hunch, I cross checked the TSA logs of uncompleted roundtrip flight itineraries and pulled out the ones with military back grounds. And guess what... They're all missing. That's twenty-four more people Fusco. They never left! Looks to me like five to six people have gone missing around this time each year. And look at the type - ex-military or government, arrest records on all of them, and loners that no one will miss. "

"Five to six? This can't be a coincidence. You call Mr. Sunshine yet?"

"Tried," her voice was lined with concern, "goes straight to voice mail."

"How bout the Professor?"

Carter reached for her phone just as it rang. She glanced at Fusco with a speak-of-the-devil, look. "Finch. Were's John? What! What do you mean you lost him!?"


	18. Chapter 18

It was his shuttle's turn to pull into the _unimpressive_, old building. He couldn't see a damn thing but the shuttle's interior lights reflecting off the pitch-black of the windows, until the building was suddenly flooded with blue light.

Suddenly the floor shifted beneath the shuttle, vibrating up through the seats as everything started to rise around them. In fact, the bus was descending. Between the blue light and rising walls, it was as if the shuttle was sinking into a watery abyss.

"Please stay seated." The driver made the announcement to placate the concerned whispers, but the descent itself was smooth and non-threatening. It was the mere fact of going underground that didn't sit well with Reese.

Underground situations were tactical nightmares; John recalled a couple tough situations he wished he could forget. Getting in was usually hard, getting out was always harder, and that was assuming he had a clear plan and knew something about the layout beforehand. This was a recipe for disaster.

The unease of dwindling escape options grow with every second they dropped. Reese knew chances were slim to none that Finch could still hear him, but he spoke to him anyway. "Heading underground..." He whispered. He hadn't been able to make out Finch's last garbled message. Whether is was due to the jamming device or the thick rock, Reese couldn't know. Either way... he was on his own.

Reese guessed they descended two or three levels, and when the elevator doors opened, the true complexity of the undertaking quickly became clear.

The facility was huge, cut from pure rock still ribbed by the marks of giant drilling equipment. Two industrial diesel generators powered the operation with conduits, as thick as his leg, running along the base of each wall. Reese raised an eyebrow in amazement. Why would they possibly need that kind output?

Their shuttled joined the eight other's now parked down the length of one wall, but it was the white vans that grabbed his attention. So they belonged to W.A.R as they suspected, meaning the Mercenaries worked for W.A.R. and their numbers too. To what end was now the question.

Reese distractedly followed the rest of the group, scanning the rest of the vehicles. Two rows of everyday, delivery trucks filled the center area. They made sense; a clever disguise to move weapons across the city undetected. The ambulances, though? They struck him as an odd choice, but before he could give it any more thought, John's attention was drawn to a resonating voice.

"Distinguished guests. Welcome and please follow me." The very dapper, older man expertly played the part of a formal usher, directing the latest group to the mouth of a long, arched tunnel.

Lighting strips ran along the ceiling's center, illuminating its length with an eerie orange hue.

Reese couldn't be sure about their exact depth; he estimated about sixty to eighty feet. The air felt moister, warmer, and was tinged with a more earthy bite, as they neared the tunnel's end.

The crowd slowed, seeming to bottleneck at the hall's end.

John shifted to see the reason, not thrilled in the least by the reason. What he was looking at were two, full-body terahertz detectors and there was no way around them.

Armed guards stood to either side of the scanners. Six in total, wearing the same uniform and armor as his two earlier attackers, but armed with a futuristic-looking assault rifle, John could only guess at.

_Definitely found the hornet's nest, _Reese humorlessly grimaced as his thoughts quickly went to all his concealed weapons and mentally prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation.

John flexed, ready to strike the closest guard just as he spoke to the man in front of him. "Please check your coat and weapons before you entering, Sir."

Reese couldn't hide the look of astonishment that must have flashed across his face. As he watched the other guests, each disarming multitudes of weapons, pass hassle-free through the detectors, he realized to NOT be armed would have singled him out as suspicious.

Who the hell where these guests? Undoubtedly all members of _criminal society,_ like the five he did know about.

When his turn came, the guard didn't even bat an eyelash at the number, or types of weapons he was carrying. They were simply collected and checked - paid no more interest than his coat as he was then directed through the scanner.

It was like falling down the rabbit hole, he thought.

A booming voice echoed around a cavernous room, drawing the attention of well over two hundred guests staring in awe at the glowing light show morphing across the white limestone walls.

"Welcome! Welcome to W.A.R. - Weapons Armament Resources Inc. B_ringing you tomorrow, so you can own today! _We hope you enjoy this year's futuristic technologies of the latest top-secret weapons, Saticom defenses, impenetrable armors, tools and toys for all the trades. Remember what you see here is the future, and we look forward to fulfilling all your _special_ needs. Now, please... enjoy!" With a final dramatic sweep of his arms, giant, twin doors gracefully parted.

The sheer proportions of the subterranean show room was a marvel of engineering achievement. At a height of about ten meters by forty and sixty wide, the enormous room was chiseled from the solid limestone deep beneath the unsuspecting city above. It was like standing in the mouth of a massive ice cave. Bone white ceilings were adorned with opulent chandeliers ostentatiously bathing the affair in icy-blues.

Five rows of outlandish booths, varying in style and design, divided the expansive area into long aisles. From his vantage point Reese couldn't yet make out the items on such prominent display, but the people milling with frenzied enthusiasm more than hinted at something of uncommon significance.

John couldn't shake the tight feeling in his stomach. This was worse than they'd thought. W.A.R. was _thee_ Arms Dealer to the arms dealers, catering to what ever hand-picked criminal that fit their criteria.

Who were they? And how were they gaining access to these secret weapon plans? He caught himself wanting to tap his earwig. Again. Of all the times not to be able to talk to Finch!

Time to find answers. Just another among a couple hundred tuxedo-donning guests, Reese didn't hesitation to slip into the fascinated crowd, completing the look was a glass of passing champagne.

Immediately, he made one of their numbers. Sinclair was absorbing a salesman's pitch with gusto. "Liquid-armor and ballistic-glass: We are very excited about this. Under normal pressure and wear, the STF is very deformable and flows like a liquid. However, once a bullet or frag hits the vest, it transitions to a rigid material preventing the projectile from penetrating your body. Composed of hard particles suspended in a liquid polyethylene glycol, its non-toxic, and can withstand a wide range of temperatures. We use hard particles of nano-cellulose or silica and can coat almost any material."

Reese had not enjoyed his taste of how well that armor worked. His aches _well_ reminded him.

A few booths down on the left, he spotted Stark. He casually came up behind her picking up the last bit of the conversation.

"So what are the powers and ranges?"

The booth wall was covered with various hand-held, sound and shock-wave weaponry. Reese couldn't help his curiosity and picked up one of the larger prototypes.

"The smallest," a man handed Stark the handgun, "can soundlessly lay out a man at twenty feet." He turned pointing at the one Reese was inspecting. "That baby can crumple a tank engine at fifty feet."

John set the weapon down, unimpressed with the distance. Fifty feet from a tank was never a good place to be.

So far the numbers seemed as innocent as five, highly trained criminals, at an illegal weapons show, could be. If this thing was legal, and there wasn't some ominously hidden agendas looming over his head, he'd honestly be enjoying himself.

Suddenly Reese noticed Trent leaving a booth across the way. Him.., he needed to avoid.

John maintained a careful distance as he checked the booth that had interested Trent.

A hand-held EMP emitter. Reese idly glance at the product, not especially new technology, but the size was impressive, as was its range. It looked like a key chain and could disable any electrical device from twenty feet. Might actually come in handy.., he thought, then just as quickly threw out the idea. Finch would never allow something like within a mile of _his_ library.

Trent stopped five booths down, giving John the chance to inspect a piece of hardware that caught his eye. Airborne surveillance cameras the size of bumblebees. Now this, Finch would love. John laughed at his next thought... would that make the machine the queen bee?

Reese recognized Boyd and moved into pursuit before he came up with any more bad ideas.

* * *

"Finch, were's John? I can't get him on ..."

"We have a problem. I've lost Mr. Reese and... I believe it may have been a trap."

"What! What do you mean you lost him!?"

"We lost all communicates about twenty minutes ago." Finch conveyed.

"Trap? Where is he?" Carter asked again.

"I don't know exactly where, just the general area he was heading when I lost his signal. I intercepted a transmission from the Mercenary group talking about _'taking the targets.'" _

"Finch... Fusco and I just found evidence of disappearances. Twenty-four so far, all corresponding to this date for the last five years. They're all ex-government or military with a criminal histories, no families and off the grid. The kind of people no one goes looking for."

"Just like our numbers..." Finch hoping she had more details that might help John. "Any idea why or where they were taken?"

"Nothing. Hell, most of them don't even have case files, and the few that do, are cold. Well, except one... sort of." Carter paused. "Only a part of one victim was recovered."

"Part?" Finch swallowed down the sudden sick feeling.

"Just an arm. Washed up on a bank of the Hutchinson River, only way they even connected it to the victim was by a tattoo that happened to be unique to the guy's old army unit and a rare buddy that cared to connect the dots."

"Can you email me the details and meet me. I'm afraid John may need our assistance in a more physical manner."

"What about Fusco?" She could see Fusco reading a text he'd just received.

"He will be joining us shortly. I need him on another quick task."


	19. Chapter 19

So far Reese hadn't detected any threats, well.., as long as he didn't count an entire warehouse full of futuristic weapons, every Who's-Who crime boss and weapons trafficker across the globe, and a small army of heavily armed mercenaries. Still, none seemed specifically interested in their numbers one way or the other.

Reese turned his attention to the echoing voice of the older, white-haired man from earlier. "Welcome distinguished guests. As you know just being here is a unique privilege, extended to the very elite, and shall we just say... morally flexible," The crowd chimed in agreed laughter. "not to mention, supremely ambitious individuals that fit our strict requirements. Some of you are here for your fifth Event, while others may be here for your first time. So please remember or... understand - the only way this works - discretion and full payment are key to both success and continued well-being."

So much for no threats. Reese pursed his lips with a glare.

"Now without further ado, it's my distinct pleasure to announce the sixth annual W.A.R. Extravaganza! Everything is beyond cutting edge, as you've been seeing, and I think you will especially enjoy the new Holographic-Combat room. It will be opened to five guests at a time, but don't worry everyone will get to experience this new marvel. Guests #001 through #005 may entire now. Have a wonderful evening."

Ok.., now that _was_, specific. Tension mounted under his cool exterior - this would put all their numbers in one place at one time. John moved through the crowd watching Stark, Trent, Sinclair and Boyd collecting at the entrance and happily reciting their codes for admittance. He had no choice but to followed suit.

Five, ten foot, clear chambers encircled the main floor, creating a pentagonal space, each guarded by two well armed sentries.

A manned control module hummed in the center of the room, resembling a water fountain with the thick cluster of cables spurting up to the ceiling, that then splitting off to each of the smaller rooms.

As they filed in, they were handed a head-set, goggles, ankle-straps and gloves, then directed forward. Reese didn't miss the evil eye he received from Trent as moved to his side.

"You lied." Reese whispered before he could say anything.

Trent look surprised. "I could say the say about you. Clearly I'm in no danger. So, I'm wondering... why did you want me gone? Who are you?"

"You said you didn't know the men following you, and yet come to find out, they were protecting you all along. Why? What are you planning?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about!" Trent spat. "I work for now one - NOT anymore!" He ground in a forceful whisper.

"Did you notice the vans on the way in? The same..." But Reese was cut short by the man at the control panel.

"Welcome to the Holographic-Combat room. This is an interactive, holographic, imaging network. It's designed to hone combat skills, shooting, hand-to-hand, evasion technics, or whatever training scenario you program in, but without the fear of permanent injury.

The system interfaces with your nervous system and pain receptors, so it will feel completely real, but again, no permanent damage will result. The perfect way to train for any situation." The man proudly smiled. "Please choose a booth and put your equipment on, then select from the five sample choices in front of you."

Trepidation was mixed with unavoidable curiosity as Reese moved to a booth. He still couldn't shake the honesty in Trent's responses. He was good at reading people and Trent wasn't lying. Did they have it wrong?

Either these five people were extremely good actors, or they really didn't know each other. Not one acknowledged the fact that he wasn't Erinson. Had they been planning something together... things would have played out very differently by now.

He felt like he was still reaching for answers, but either way, it didn't change the fact that they were collected together, unarmed and outgunned - times ten. Not favorable even by his standards.

Reese inspected the equipment he was holding. It appeared to have input sensors at multiple points of contact, even if he place them on askew, he couldn't avoid them all; he hoped however, it would be enough to disrupt a complete connection of whatever the hell this was.

"Please enter your height, weight and make your combat selection; we have a few to choose from. Street, knife, fire-fight, or jujitsu."

Street fighting. That was second nature and would give him the chance to divide his attention.

"Don't worry about the difficulty level, it is self-adjusting based on your natural responses. Thank you... and now, enjoy."

The lights dimmed.

* * *

Notes* sorry it's a short ch. I'll try to get more up tonight. Work is getting in the way! ... I just want to play! ...Play with my (I mean our) favorite characters! :-)

Thanks to everyone for the Reviews! Writer's Candy - Pure and simple!


	20. Chapter 20

Dan Erinson sat, still a bit dazed and certainly confused. He'd come-to, with his wrists cuffed to a table and his hands pressed flat in front of him as if he could somehow stabilize this out of control situation.

What the hell happened? Who was the man who cold cocked him? He wasn't a cop, not a FED either. He was pissed he'd let his guard down, assuming the guy was a W.A.R. guest like some wet behind the ears rookie!

He looked around, evaluating his options for escape. The room was claustrophobically small, with only a door and what must be a one way mirror. Interrogation room.

Fusco took a deep breath, preparing to do this, as his earlier conversation with Finch replayed in his head.

"Why the hell you have this place?"

"Not me, John. And I'm not the one you need to be asking the questions Mr. Fusco." Finch was more clipped than usual. "Just quickly get anything you can out of him Detective, then join us at the address I sent you. Lets hope he knows something that might help Mr. Reese."

"Ok, ok, see what I can do." He'd learned quickly it was futile to do other than they asked, despite his discomforts on the subject.

With a swallow, Fusco entered the small room. "So here's how this is gonna work. You're gonna tell me everything you know about the WAR Event and what your plans are. Or so help me, I'm gonna polish this table with your stupid face. After that, I'm sure the Feds are gonna enjoy hearing all about your illegal weapons shipping activities..."

"You're not going to do shit. I can smell cop all over you - you have rules."

Fusco couldn't help the broad smile stretching across his face. "On most days you're right, but funny how complications change things. Lines can blur. Rules get fuzzy." Fusco did a slow pace in front of Erinson. "You met my partner; might remember him as the one that handed you your ass earlier. Well, he's the _nice one_..." Fusco stopped and leaned on the table watching the beads of sweat collecting at the scumbag's hairline.

He could really getting into this vigilante stuff.

* * *

Every hair on Reese's body bristled with the static hum of electricity as a very large and muscular opponent materialized right before his eyes. The guy looked like any one of a hundred thugs Reese had dispatched over the years.., but this one wasn't flesh and blood.

With a growl, the man struck at John. Instinct over road any doubt as he ducked the blow and came up with a fist to his jaw. The contact felt absolutely real! The smacking contact, the sting of skin, even the force it took to stagger the man backwards.

The program seemed to adapt with Reese's every move; the thug attacked with more advance style, jumping into successive, spinning kicks. John easily blocked the first few, landing a hard kidney punch as the man caught his balance, but the second wave of kicks were that much better, managing a nasty hit to his hip.

_Dammit. Real or not, it felt like every boot he'd ever been kicked with!_

Reese let loose, firing off a blur of snapping punches - stomach, throat and a closing temple blow on the way down. He disappeared as soon as he hit the ground. Round one, Reese.

John looked out, finding the others engaging in various, contorted combat moves. Trent and Stark still held their own, but Boyd and Sinclair had apparently not fared as well, judging by the way one slammed against the wall of his booth and the other slumped on the floor.

Reese only had a split-second before two classic gang members solidified and angrily stalked toward him. The program with escalating. One carried a large knife, the other twirled a bat.

The first hood swung the bat, but Reese quickly step in, rendering the momentum useless as he caught and hooked his arm around the man's and forcefully wrench up while kicking backwards at the approaching knife-man. Both men staggered back. John marveled at how real this whole was, while delivering a finishing kick to the bat-wielding hood. He vanished.

The second gangster took a couple of swipes at Reese's midsection. John jumped back, baiting the man in. It worked; the hood lunged blade first. John deflected the knife hand, letting the man's own momentum carry him in just as Reese thrust out his palm, forcing the idiots nose bones to shatter into his cyber-brain.

Reese rarely used that kill move anymore, but he didn't need to play by his rules here. This wasn't real.

Apparently the program didn't think so either, so John didn't anticipated the attacker not hitting the ground, dead. He wasn't prepared for the man to continue, unfazed and spin, burying the knife deeply into in his side with an added twist to punctuate the impossibility.

Reese clutched his side, staggered a few steps in shocked anger. The pain increasing to a blinding level, searing every nerve ending. He could feel the thickness of his vest, but it had been useless against the virtual attack.

John moved to the edge of his booth, trying to catch a glimpse of their numbers. Not one remained standing as the soldiers moved toward them.

He glared at the two moving his way, preparing to resist, but his lungs burned to the point they refused to continue the battle. Finally his legs gave out and Reese hit the floor.

His brain knew this wasn't real, that he hadn't just been fatally stabbed, but his body offered him no chance to acknowledge reality. All he could do was fight to stay consciousness and figure out what was happening.

* * *

"That was interesting. Have you ever had to ramp up the level that high before?"

"Never. They don't usually last passed the second, this one made it into three. Had to cheap the fight-laws to put him down."

"That was underhanded, Jack..."

"Okay guys, quite screwing around. Tranq him and let's get em loaded up. Boss wants them there on time."

Reese listened to the exchange between the three Mercs, trying to make sense of their ramblings through his half conscious state.

One of the soldiers approached, kneeling beside him.

John summoned ever ounce of strength he had left; the timing had to be perfect.

At the exact moment he felt the needle prick his neck, Reese plunged a pen into man's thigh. The infuriated soldier reared back, clutching at his wounded leg with both hands releasing a blood curdling scream.

Reese quickly pulled the syringe from his skin, sprayed out the contents and stabbed it back into his neck before the large Merc could refocus on him.

John couldn't move, he needed to sell his pretended unconsciousness, and hell, it hurt to damn much anyway. The combination of searing nerves coupled with cracked ribs from the day before, had him close to his limit. It took all his concentration not to really pass out, so when the wounded Mercenary came at him for payback, it nearly did him in.

The heavy boot, of his good leg, landed with repeated brutality before an angry command stopped the onslaught.

"What the fuck are you doing!" The man grabbed and spun the soldier with acknowledged authority.

"Lieutenant Mathison, Sir! I... I'm sorry, but the bastard stabbed me with a pen! With a fucking pen!"

"Are insane?! If you kill or damage him... it'll be _you_ taking his place! Get that out of your leg, and let's move it!" Mathison leaned in, taking a closer look at Reese. "Holy shit! He's not one of the targets, that's the guy that killed Wilson and Bowman! Oh fuck me... the Major's gonna lose it."

The hobbling soldier took a couple ragged breaths before yanking the pen from is leg and bouncing it off the floor next to Reese's head. John didn't twitch. "Bastard just bought himself a one way ticket to hell. He deserves every bit of what that psycho, Death Dealer's gonna do to him."

Reese tried to wrap his head around their meaning, but the cryptic conversation only raised more questions. Some puzzles just need more pieces before you could see the big picture, he coached himself.

He would wait, listen and learn, calm his breathing and compartmentalise the pain as his years of first hand experience and training had taught him. Now wasn't the time to make another move.

He relaxed his body when he felt them lift and place him on a gurney, and forced himself not to react as straps were mercilessly cinched down over his ribs.

He endured the rough trip down a long corridor, allowing himself to drift in and out, until the surfaced changed. With the smoothness came familiar surroundings and Reese could make out the parking area from earlier.

There were ten Mercenaries, two per gurney, pushing them down passed the shuttles and rows of delivery trucks. Now John knew the reason for the _five_ ambulances.


	21. Chapter 21

Carter turned her head lights off, idling her cruiser down the dark, puddle-riddled road until she spotted the black luxury car. It stood out against the abandoned wrecks and grunge of this part of town.

She got into his passenger side. "Ok, spill. Where is he?"

Not even bothering to look up from his laptop, "I fear we may have moved prematurely. As we collected information on our people of interest, it seemed more likely that they were here as a conspiring group of perpetrators, we assumed, allied with the Mercenaries."

"I know all that..." She rushed him.

"However, with the hardware we recovered from Mr. Reese's Mercenaries, I was able to begin decrypting their communications. It appears we were wrong. They are actually the targets and this Event is the trap." Finch pulled out, slowly driving down between warehouses and old buildings, starting what he feared was a futile search.

"A trap for what exactly? And dammit, tell-me-where John is? And how the hell did you let him walk into this alone?"

That made Finch pause with sudden irritation. "I think you know Mr. Reese well enough by now, Detective, to answer that later part yourself." There was no controlling Mr. Reese, he wouldn't want too if he could. It was one of the things that made him so good at his job. "As to the rest... I'm working on them. The cell signals for each of our victims, including Mr. Reese's, were lost within this eight mile radius..."

"Radius! Finch they could be anywhere!" Carter's voiced raised with a crack, as it so often did when her exasperation grew to this level. "You have any idea how many hidden nooks and crannies these old places have?" There were only the two of them, three, counting Fusco when he showed, and that was nowhere near the man power needed to cover that size of a dead-zone, let alone one with so many likely holes. "Finch, let me call in. Get this place crawling with cops. We can deal with getting him from them later. At least he'll be alive."

Finch pushed on, fully aware of the daunting task at hand, but not willing to get the NYPD involved yet."Their jamming signal would need to be in the center of that circle. I've already narrowed it down by working from the outskirts in. And the last thing I understood John say, was something about 'going underground.' I've pulled up everything associated with the company that rented the shuttle buses, Trans Global. Apparently they've least a great number of properties throughout New York; a few within this area."

"Where? Have you checked them out?"'

"I have, and found nothing but undeveloped sites. Only one ever had any plans submitted to the city. In 2008 rather outlandish plans for a subterranean factory were turned down and the land left sitting. I hoped that something might reveal itself by coming here." He motioned ahead.

"That? That tiny building?"

"This is the closest I could get to the center and signal lose. Yes."

"So you think the Event is being held here, underground?" Carter said laced with doubt.

"I'm at as much of a loss as you are Detective. I can only hope that I receive another transmission to learn more."

"Tell me exactly, what you heard so far."

"I'm not certain I understand the context, the subtext however, was more than concerning. They referenced to '_outside interference,_' which I assumed to mean Mr. Reese's earlier encounter, then mention '_setting a holographic room to maximum, and taking the five targets there.'" _

Carter cringed at the possible interpretation. "We have to consider that '_taking them_' might mean..." But she couldn't say the actual words.

"Detective... I refuse to believe that! I doubt these people would have gone through such elaborate measures if they simply wanted to kill them. If the challenge those Mercenaries posed to Mr. Reese proves anything, it's that they were more than capable of that at any time prior." Finch had to believe it.

It was true. Why wait to get them altogether? Had to be a different reason, but they were stabbing in the dark and wasting time. "Ok, so they want them for something, but we don't know why or where. Finch, this isn't much to go on. We need to find a way into that facility."

Finch was obviously frustrated. "Detective, the definition of insanity is to keeping doing the same thing and expect a different result. I don't think going in alone, _guns blazing_, is going to increase your chances of helping Mr. Reese.. - though he might argue differently. I think we need a more delicate approach."

He was going to throw the definition of _insanity_ at her!? She was just about to protest when he distractedly added, "I need my other computers."

Carter had a sudden wave of anger roll over her already festering helplessness. "Research!? John might not have that kind of time!" She rolled her eyes wondering how in the world these two got along.

A gun-slinging hero with a death wish, paired a reclusive computer geek, guarded and careful to a fault. But the question barely sprung to mind before it clicked; they balanced each other. Two parts of an imposing whole.

Suddenly Finch made a halting gesture with the start of another incoming transmission.

"Report."

"Sir, we have a problem. The same unidentified man who killed Tom and Mike... the one we thought was dead.., is here."

"What?! What do you mean there?"

"Here Sir, as in, infiltrated the event posing as target Erinson#001."

"How could this happen! Do we know his objective? Anything about him other than he-isn't**-**fucking-dead!?"

"No Sir. We were not able to question him before he was incapacitated."

"How the hell he pieced this together, is what I want to know!"

"Unknown, Sir. What do you want us to do with him? Some of the guys think he's earned some respect and shouldn't end up like the others."

"If we had a choice, I'd feel the same way, but we have a reputation to uphold with W.A.R. and I'm not about to screw around with the Death Dealer. We move forward, he becomes the fifth target, and you make the scheduled delivery."

"One other thing, Sir. When he attacked Stevens, he laid into the guy pretty good."

"What? Goddamnit! You know that organ-harvesting, sadist needs undamaged parts! How bad?"

"Maybe some broken ribs, nothing too obvious, at first glance. He's breathing ok, so no punctured lungs."

"Fuck Mathison, control your men! And Lieutenant, this stays '_need to know_,' got it."

"Yes, Major. What about the real target? Won't the Death Dealer know."

"Not our problem. We don't have time to deal with that anymore. Let's just make sure we're in the air before he figures it out. The plane is ready - so get moving. You've got two hours to deliver the targets, then we're done and gone."

"Copy that... Ah Sir?"

"What is it Lieutenant?"

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Make it quick."

"This _is_ the last time right? We feel right about this anymore."

"This is the last time, son."

* * *

Carter looked up at Finch and saw her fear mirrored in his eyes. "Oh God, Finch.., we have to get them out of there!" She now knew why they'd only found _part _of the missing person in her case file. _Left overs._ "There has to be something, some way to find him..."

This was the horrific reason the machine had given them these numbers. He didn't want to think about the gruesome implications that this was the sixth year.

It took a long moment before he felt his voice return. "They said they were moving them. We need to figure out how." Finch determinedly added, "I need my other equipment..."

Without thinking, he turned the lincoln around, pushing it down the dark roads back toward the library.

* * *

Major Robert Keel paced the rain slicked dock, glancing from his watch, to the plane, then to the inky waters beyond. The headlights of his black SUV caught his large frame each time he passed, casting an enormous shadow over his men busily prepping their seaplane.

Mathison and his men should be no more than two hours. The plane would take another ten for take off, so in two hours and ten minutes, and this shit would finally be over. Keel would finally wash the blood of this six-year obligation from his hands.

Same date, once a year, he and his team were hired to handle the details of this barbaric job.

Half of it was great, a cake-walk. It was his team's job to control outside interferences, set up the location and provide muscle for W.A.R.'s weapons sales.

They were handsomely paid by the elite arms company, in both money and weaponry. The cutting edge tools made the rest of their work child's play, and if it was only W.A.R. they dealt with.., they'd happily continue. But it wasn't. It was the _other half _of the job that didn't sit right.

That _half, _they referred to as the '_Death Dealer._' God knew what his real name was. Dr. Mengele and Frankenstein were just a few of the other names his men used, but whoever the hell he was, he was a monster. The guy even gave him the creeps.., that alone should have kept him far, far away, but it wasn't that simple. Never was.

Six years ago, Keel had been faced with the inevitable loss of his baby sister. Annie. The only person in his life that he actually and truly gave a shit about. Life had given her a bum-rap; she needed a new heart. Fast.

So when he heard about this Doctor that could work the kind of miracle she needed, he did what he had to do. He ignored his finely honed instincts and sold his soul to that death-dealing devil, and got her new one.

At first he didn't ask questions. As long as she lived, the strings that came attached to that miracle didn't much matter. He did what was asked of him and kept he mouth shut. What was six years of service anyway? She was healthy again. His men got paid. Everything was fine... At first.

The fact that he was already a veteran killer in his own right, didn't lessen that this job was like dumping acid on your soul - it just ate at you.

Military support, hostage retrieval, surgical strikes, coups... that was good work, still had a certain honor and dignity. And he'd slept just fine doing it.

Forty fucking years, he'd been doing it, selling his services as a Mercenary to the highest bidder, and loved every minute of it - until this. This was sadistic theft and an affront to humanity.

Keel had to laugh, finding it ironic that he'd be so bothered by this when he'd seen and caused so much death. He certainly couldn't say he was a humanitarian. But this was wrong on levels even his fucked-up sense of morality couldn't live with.

Each year that cold-blooded butcher would give him a list of names. People he then had to make sure safely made it to the event, were capture and then deliver on time. But the faces of those men and women started weighing on him. The harvested hearts, kidneys, livers - God knew what else - those so-called miracles.., now had faces. And they haunted him.

But Keel did the job to perfection - that was just his way. Everything had always been flawless, no fuck-ups. Not until now.

Somehow, this mystery man had come out of nowhere, almost blowing the whole thing in the eleventh hour. How the hell had he found out? But it didn't matter, and at this point, he didn't care.

He actually wished he could let the wily son-of-a-bitch loose on the Doctor. That would be poetic. He smiled enjoying the idea, but knew he would stick to the plan. It was his way.

Keel stopped pacing and looked at his watch for the millionth time. Two hours left...


	22. Chapter 22

A painful silence filled the car as Finch intently replayed every possible detail, desperate to reach a new conclusion and hoping he'd missed something that could point to where John and the other's were being taken. He knew what he needed to do.

"Finch? My cruiser's back the other way. Where are we going? Finch!?"

He'd been be so focused on his thoughts, she almost startled him. He looked her direction. "I know Detective..," She waited, unmoving and tense with her hands fisted in her lap, wearing a questioning frown.

He'd made a very hard decision. "...I need my other equipment and we don't have time to waste. I'm going to have to ask for your utmost discretion and secrecy." He didn't wait for her response as he hooked a quick left onto the freeway.

Caught off guard, her emotions welled to the surface; anger was tinged with hurt and surprise when she finally spoke. "After everything we've been through? I think you know you have it. _Have_ had it! I need to be working on getting John back as much as you do, Finch."

The truth was, trust was not something that came easily to Finch. His whole life was a road map of twists and turns built around avoiding situations where he had to trust another human being. But every moment that passed meant Mr. Reese and their numbers were that much farther away and closer to this unconscionable fate.

From the very start, Reese had been adamant about Detective Carter being special, a good moral cop, extremely honest, intuitive and adept at her job. He'd said '_some people the world could not afford to lose._' Harold would be remiss to dismiss John's poignant statement and assessment of her - he so rarely shared his intimate opinions. Not to mention, she had proven herself time and time again as not just an asset, but as an invaluable ally.

Resigned, he edged the lincoln through the last few turns and into the camouflaged jungle of the ignored scaffolding, taking them deep into the underground parking garage of the old library building. Their headquarters.

Carter felt like she was entering a secret lair - the well-kept secret hidden in plain sight and cloaked in mundanities. "I can't tell you how often I've passed by this place, never even looking up."

"That Detective, is what we count on." Finch led the way, watching Carter as she absorbed and cataloged every detail of the garage, halls and stairs.

"With your limp, wouldn't the elevator be easier?"

He gave her a sad smile. It struck him how similar she and Mr. Reese really were.

Finally, and with a deep breath, he unlocked the cage door, exposing the last coveted vestiges of his private sanctum.

"Damn Finch, this is your command central?" An approaching skittering and scrapping echoed from an adjacent room. Carter reached for her gun, until the familiar, pouncing-ball of energy came into view.

"Hello Bear!" Finch knelt to one knee, hugging the dog in mutually needed affection.

"So you live here?"

"By definition.., no." Letting Carter in this far was a huge step for him; he didn't feel comfortable elaborating. He stood, stiffly moving toward his array of computers, intent on beginning the difficult system hack, he knew would be their only hope.

Bear closely followed Carter, loving the added company and idle scratches, while she moved around the room to study the wall of photos. She leaned in, scrutinizing the faces and wondering if she recognized any. "Wow, these all the people you and John helped?"

"That wall, yes... "

"And this one?" Raising her eyebrows in question.

"A failed past. A reminder why we do what we do." Finch allowed this admission and his eyes to travel over the lost faces that would forever link him to his haunting regret. He would not let their latest numbers, or Mr. Reese, join that wall.

Carter approached him. "So what's your plan?"

"I'm afraid you're not going to like it." Finch had returned to a furious pace of typing, switching from one computer to the next, and filling all the screens with multiple fields of streaming data.

Carter moved to stand beside him, peering over his shoulder. "Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?" She couldn't help her unchecked shock. Every moral fiber of her being was screaming that she should not be a part of this. But she knew full well, what coming here meant. It meant she was willing to do whatever it took to get John and the others back.

Finch swallowed. "It is Detective... The CIA's satellite surveillance system, specifically the Kennan KH-11. I'll find earlier images of the shuttles to establish where they disappeared, then task the Kennan to that area. With any luck, we'll be able to see activity leaving the site, and hope it's them."

"How long can you maintain control of the satellite?"

"You mean until they realize they've been hacked? And come looking for us?"

She nodded in worry.

"I apologize for any misgivings you my have Joss, but I didn't see and alternative. Besides, they won't. I've rerouted the origins of the hack to fifty different, red-flagged, locations around the world. They'll be quite busy before they ever got to us, and we'll be well off and long gone by then."

She tried to find comfort in the reassurance when something caught her eye. "There!" Carter excitedly pointed to the line of three shuttles entering the suspected lot and watched, as frame by frame, they disappeared into the small shed. "That's it Finch! Or one hell of a magic trick!"

"Now let's put the satellite over the area and switch it to thermal imagery."

Carter cringed... Using a national defense satellite for personal reasons? Now that topped the list of her wrongdoings. And she didn't see that list shrinking anytime soon... she swallowed.

They could now clearly see the slight thermal definition of something larger underground. Finch spun to the his far right computer and began entering information faster than Carter could read it. "They must have built it without the city knowing. I'll pull up the 2008 proposed plans and see if any alternate entrances and exits are listed."

Finch's phone rang, "Yes Detective Fusco, what did you find out?" He never stopped typing.

Fusco jumped right to the point. "Nothing we didn't already know. He confirmed that the Event is a secret trade show of basically anything that gives the big-time weapons dealers a hard-on. Sounds like they're selling some pretty sensitive stuff."

"Did he have any idea who they are?"

"No. But found out what W.A.R. stands for, Weapons Armament Resources Inc. Said they host this show at different locations, in New York, every year. He's been to five of em. Have you heard from our mutual friend or Carter?"

"Working on it, and Carter is here with me. Thank you Detective, please stay close, we may need you quickly. I'll be in touch."

"Wait! What do you want me to do with this guy?"

"I believe the FBI would be quite thrilled to relieve you of him, Mr. Fusco." Finch hung up and immediately initiated a new search.

Carter leaned in reading over his shoulder. '_Weapons Armament Resources Inc...' _"They the ones behind this?"

"Possibly." Finch's attention was suddenly riveted to the satellite feed. "Detective look! Five ambulances..!" Finch met Carter with hopeful desperation.

"You got weapons here?"

Finch smiled...

* * *

They were moving a good clip, judging by the frequency of hit potholes. Reese was still strapped down and miserable, but bided his time, waiting for the right moment to make a move.

There were two Mercenaries, one drove the other was seated to his left. He listened to their conversation, pulling out any relevant details, but until he knew where they were going, he didn't want to reveal his faked incapacitation.

Reese had to be extremely careful; waiting carried its own set of risks. As it was, he'd barely managed to avoid a full dose of whatever drug the Mercs used.

He could still feel the slight amount he'd gotten, but luckily - if he should call it luck - his screaming ribs kept just enough adrenaline going to override most of it. But if they dosed him again, and he couldn't stop them, they'd all be on the chopping block. Literally.

It wasn't just about saving their numbers anymore... it was about finding and stopping this God-complexed monster, doling out fates worse than death.

A shutter ran up his spin, wondering about the number of previous victims they hadn't known to save.


	23. Chapter 23

**** AAHH so sorry for the wait guys! The art show is over, I'm home and back to posting! Left poor Reese in a bind again (you know how I love to do that! (evil grin.) Hope you guys like it. Please R&R ****

* * *

"There! Finch! There they are!" Carter rolled down her window despite the heavy rain. The big luxury car crested a hill lifting with a momentary floating sensation before heavily testing the suspension on the other side. They could now clearly make out all five ambulances speeding out of the city limits.

Finch listened as Carter called in the plate number of the closest one. "Hang back, but keep them in sight. I'm going to call in a road block."

"Detective, you can't do that! We have to get John out first."

"Finch, there's no way to know which one he's in without stopping them all! How are we going to do that?" She clenched her jaw in frustration. "Why aren't things ever simple with you guys?" She huffed with a shake of her head. "Rhetorical... don't answer that."

The ambulances clung to the city's darker outskirts, blasting through pothole-infested black top to avoid the higher profile highways. Parked and abandoned cars intermittently narrowed the already treacherous and rain-sheeted roads, but the ambulances had no problems. Their weight easily cut through the shedding waters, while dual-wheels bridged the tire swallowing terrain.

"Detective? I'm no expert.., but there seem to be headlights gaining on us at an extreme rate of speed." Finch couldn't keep the alarm from his voice.

Carter looked back at the very moment a massive, black truck collided with the back of their lincoln.

The impact felt like a battering ram, snapping both Finch and Carter in their seats. The truck sent the car lurching forward and into a hydroplaning slide before Finch managed to right its path once again.

"Dammit!" Carter pointed her gun out the window and fired at the vehicle, while bringing her phone to her ear. She yelled between shots. "Fusco! We're heading north..! On the Hutchinson River Parkway..! In pursuit of five Ambulances..! Picked up a tail.. and could use some help!"

The truck pulled back, for a moment; Carter thought her bullets might have hit home and deterring their attackers, but a spray of automatic gunfire, told her it was just a weapon's change.

Their car was instantly riddled with the deadly, metal-shredding rounds causing both of them to reflexively duck.

Finch had this lincoln reenforced against attacks, but it offered little resistance against the Mercenaries' hail of armor-piercing rounds. Bullets penetrated the interior, shooting across the seats.

"Fuck!" Carter yelled, watching as blood seeped through her fingers clutched over a deep gouge on her right shoulder.

"Carter!?" Finch shouted over the howling wind and road noise. "Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine!" She ground out, truly unsure of the damage, but certain she didn't have the time to find out. "Punch it!"

Finch increased their speed, but there was nothing he could do to truly outrun the range of their bullets. None the less, he pushed the design limits of the large car anywhere the road allowed.

Grimacing against the burning pain of her wound, Carter dug through one of Reese's bags she'd grabbed from the library. "Try to hold it steady!" She couldn't believe what she was about to do. She was taking a page right out of John's play book! And yet, she itched to end these assholes.

Harold gripped the steering, not just against the hazardous speeds, but also in anxious anticipation of the weapon he watched Carter withdraw from the bag.

Spinning backwards in her seat, "Lets see how you do blind!" Carter spat, with an M-203 smoke grenade launcher now aimed out her window. Luckily it was a left-handed shot, she thought, while taking aim with her good arm.

A deafening, throaty thunk recoiled up her bones. She had to squint through the downpour to see if she'd hit her mark, but the violently whipping headlights and thick smoke, purring from all four windows of the truck, answered her question. "Got ya!" She snarled.

* * *

"Lieutenant? What the hell's going on back there!" The soldier at the wheel yelled.

"It's Roberts. We must have picked up a tail. He and the men are taking care of it."

Reese listened to the distant, but unmistakable pops of automatic gunfire when a couple sudden swerves, suggested the battle was getting closer.

"Get some distance between us - go faster, Harris! We've got our orders! The clinic's not much farther!" The Mercenary, John now knew as Mathison, commanded.

A low resonating blast suddenly made Reese smile. He knew the sound of his grenade launcher anywhere. Carter had found them.

That was his cue - time to move.


	24. Chapter 24

"They're pulling away. Don't lose them!"

"I have no intentions of i..." But Finch's answer was cut off by a massive impact dangerously sending their car into skid to the right.

Every ounce of Harold's concentration was focused on keeping them on the road. "Hang on!"

Though many physical aspects of Finch's life had been adversely affected by his accident, his talent for driving had not. Harold waited for that golden second, where the tires caught just enough friction for him to accelerate into the slide and regained control.

Carter didn't even have a chance to worry about the car, her focus was on a new threat. "Damn, there's another one!" She hung out the window, aiming her gun over the roof of their car toward the second truck that had joined the battle.

Finch matched its speed so Carter could empty her gun into the windshield, but bullet proof glass rendered her 9mm useless.

She saw the rear window being lowered. "Finch! In coming!" She drew back into her seat, just in time to duck and brace against both, a barrage of machine-gunfire and Finch's erratic swerving to avoid the blanketing onslaught.

The rear windshield shattered into hailing chunks of glass that sprayed across seat. Finch swerved, narrowly missing a row of parked cars by mere inches.

Carter climbed into the back. "Their coming again! Go, go, go!"

The heavy truck came in for another driving attack. Its three-ton mass bore down on the smaller car just as Carter knocked out the remnants of the dangling windshield and opened fire with one of John's M-4s. She shot into the opened window, then pelted the driver's side windshield, effectively backing them off.

But the reprieve didn't last long, muzzle flashes again filled the darkness, cutting across the trunk and side of the car. Carter ducked, ejecting the spent clip and slamming in another, "Finch we can't take much more of this!" If it hadn't been for the reenforced doors, they'd already be dead, she acknowledge and resumed fire.

"I know, I know!" Finch yanked the wheel to avoid another volley of gunfire.

"Their gonna ram us from the left!" Carter shouted with added alarm realizing she was also out of ammo.

"Hang on!" Finch slammed the brakes sending Carter piling into the back of the front seats as he dodged a sudden right by the truck. The 4x4 blasted passed, violently jerking back and forth from Finch's unanticipated maneuver.

Carter shook off the impact in time to see a familiar blue streak shoot passed and side swipe the left quarter panel of the truck, sending it into a wild spin.

"Oh shit! Finch lookout!" Carter screamed and clutched the back of the seats as both Finch and Fusco veered, both narrowly missing the truck as it crashed head-on into a barrier.

Their rearview mirror was filled with the exploding wreckage when Carter remembered to breath and dialed her phone. "Fusco. Damn good timing!"

"Don't mention it, figured you were close after seeing the last smoked-out wreck back there. You guys ok? Your car looks like it could double as a pasta strainer."

"Nothin' that won't heal. Finch?" Carter leaned forward, looking Finch over for any signs of injury. His dark suit gave up no secrets, but the spray of shattered glass wasn't shy about leaving bloody scraps across both his neck and hands.

Finch had barely heard the Detective over his still racing heart beat. "I'm fine Detective."

"So, I'm guessing more Mercenaries? And what's up with the ambulances?" Fusco couldn't begin to guess about the rest.

"We believe those ambulances are carrying Mr. Reese and our other victims." Finch said, straining to keep sight of the last Ambulance through the steam spewing from his car's engine. The extreme tire wobble and palpable engine knock were not helping matters either. "And we need to stop them."

"Hope that don't take too much longer. My front tire's about had it and your whole car ain't lookin' to good neither." Fusco didn't know he was putting a voice to Finch's concerns. "At this rate we'll lose em' in a couple mil... Whoa! What the...!? Was that the ambulance?!..."

All they could see was the blur of red lights whipping from side-to-side suddenly shooting into the air then crashing down in a trail of sparks.


	25. Chapter 25

Reese took advantage of the Mercenary's distraction and smoothly unhooked the straps from across his chest and stomach. With his hands free, the pistol strapped to Mathison's left leg was a very tempting target.

As the ambulance rocked, Reese rolled left pivoting up while landing a simultaneous punch to the Merc's face. An immediate knee to the ribs left the weapon unguarded.

Reese pulled the Lieutenant's gun from its holster, but the solider was well trained and quick, latching onto John's wrists before he could aim the gun.

The battle was awkward, ugly and lacked any style as the tight and cluttered confines restricted their balance and movement.

The men crashed into the gurney and against the walls. Mathison repeatedly jammed the back of Reese's hand into the wall trying to dislodge the gun. John growled with the impact as the solider laced his fingers over Reese's reflexively squeezing causing the weapon to fire. The bullet pierced the front wall into the cab.

The vehicle suddenly jerked, fishtailing right then left. Both men lost any semblance of balance, being slammed from one side to the other with bone jarring intensity while the van uncontrollably whipped into a violent chain reaction.

A hard impact against the right guard rail sent the massive ambulance careening back across the road, heedless of the upcoming corner and on a collision course with a steep embankment.

Suddenly it was as if everything switched to slow motion. Everything smoothed. For an instant, Reese felt as if he were hovering in midair as the ambulance launched up and over.

* * *

"...What the...!? Was that an ambulance?!"

It was like watching a giant whale leap and twist out of the ocean, but with no beauty and no graceful reentry. The vehicle crash landed on its side, leaving a wake of littering debris down the road for hundreds of feet before the mangled hulk came to final screeching halt.

In seconds, they were at the site. Carter and Fusco flew from their cars approaching the wreckage, armed and on high alert.

Carter's heart was racing, one part terror, two parts hope as they moved on the van_._

Carter kept Fusco in view while he cautiously checked the cab, "NYPD - anyone inside, put your hands were we can see them!" but a shake of his head, indicated there were no survivors.

The rain had slowed to a spitting drizzle as they moved to the rear. Carter counted down as she reached for the bottom door handle. Inches from touching it, the door burst open breaking what was left of the glass upon impact and causing both Detectives to tighten up on their guns. "Come outta there! NYPD!" Fusco ordered.

"Working.. on it.. Detective. Kinda... sore here..." Reese bent under the other hanging door, awkwardly using it the steady himself. Things weren't working right just yet.

"Whoa, easy there 007." Fusco was quick to holster is gun and lend Reese a steadying hand. "Figured this for your work. In a tux no less!"

"Little much for an abduction, right?" Reese through out.

"Smart-ass." Carter felt indescribable relief with his flippant response.

He gave her a slight wink, but his levity quickly faded to worry when he noticed Carter's blood soaked sleeve. "You hurt?"

"Just a graze. Bastards tried to turn us into swish cheese. We need to call for a roadblock and get a tact-team in place. Any idea where they're headed?"

"I didn't get to finish to my conversation with the Lieutenant, here." Reese motioned inside the ambulance. "Only heard them say the clinic wasn't far from here..."

John gently placed his hands on her shoulder parting her ripped shirt to inspect the wound for himself. "You also need to send a team to the underground facility at the shipyards. It's a virtual buffet of heavy-hitters."

"Already done. Finch sent the layout so they could smoke them out and catch them as they when they ran to ground."

Fusco called from inside the ambulance. "Hey! You're guy's still breathing, but out cold. Guessin' he can tell us where they're going."

"Among others, but we need to hurry. It sounded like the Mercenaries were in a rush to bug out. From the way they were talking, since this didn't go as planed, they're expecting trouble from whoever's on the receiving end."

"Why do we care? Let them take each other out." Fusco questioned.

"Except the Mercenaries aren't actually behind this. Only why to be sure the right bad guys get put down, is do it ourselves."

Fusco hefted the mercenary out of the ambulance. "Just once be nice if things were that simple. And! I wish you'd nab a midget or at least a really skinny guy... What's with these ginormous jar-heads anyway!"

"Put him in your car." With a dirty look from Fusco, John unsteadily followed him to the car letting his eyes travel passed to the thrashed car parked beyond. Even from afar, he could see the excessive damage illuminated from the headlights of the ambulance, and appraised it with impressed amazement.

"Damn Carter..!" The out-and-out cowboy-heroics were blatantly evident across the vehicle and definitely more his style than the by-the-book Detective. "I'm impressed." He declared as she joined him.

"You must be rubbing off on me." She smiled up at him, quick to wrap a steadying arm around his waist, despite knowing he didn't need her help. It was more a matter of her _needing_ to touch him.

John glanced at her with appreciative understanding, enjoying her contact as they moved toward the cars. "I heard the grenade launcher.., how'd you manage to drive and shot with your wounded shoulder?"

"What? No, Finch drove." A sudden look of concerned spread to her face. "Finch. He was right behind me!"

Everything forgotten, Reese ran the last length to the car finding a very pale Finch hunched in the drivers seat. "Finch!"

"Johnnn.., heyyyy,' Finch slurred his answer with a smile. "Glad you'rrre ok... Wasss worried."

John knelt next to Finch immediately noting the shiny wetness over his left shoulder. "Might not be me you should be worrying about, Harold. Here let me see." Reese gently took hold of Finch's collar and slowly peeled it to the side with a cringe of discovery.

"Sorry mmm ssso tired. Uhhh oh. I know...thaaat loook..." Finch pinched his lips with a disgusted look. "Bear chew yrrr holsters again? Don't be mad... He was worried too..."

John was not pleased by Finch's delusional state. "Carter you have a first aid kit?"

Remorse ridged his brow as he grabbed and pressed a towel to stanch the bleeding from the through-and-through gunshot wound in Finch's upper shoulder. It was a clean shot; the bullet had thankfully missed his collar-bone, but was still freely bleeding.

Dammit. This was his fault. He'd put Harold in this position, forcing him to take these extreme measures. It was his job to take the risks, not Harold.., or Carter.

John clenched his jaw in anger. They'd been flying blind from the start of this whole thing, tripping into the answers instead of planning a damn thing. He forced himself to quit this line of thinking... it was pointless and counter productive. Plan or no, he still had work to do. "Just relax, Finch. You're gonna be fine." He spoke to them both.


	26. Chapter 26

How had she missed it? She was a cop! Had medical field training! Been a goddamn soldier! What was wrong with her?! "I asked him if he was hit! He said he was fine!" She couldn't reel in her lashing anger. "What's with the two of you? You think you're ten feet tall and bullet proof!? Not a full day's work unless one or both of you are nearly killed, shot, kidnapped, tortured, or all of the above!?"

John knew she didn't mean what she was saying or expect an answer. Honestly, he shared her frustration and self-recrimination. But somehow hearing her rant was grounding, made things feel more normal and feel less like everything was spiraling out of control.

"... all I saw was the glass." Her voiced gentled, but cracked with guilt as she hurriedly brought the kit and helped with a quick field dressing.

"Carter, it's not you're fault. Finch has limited feeling on certain parts of his neck and shoulder. With the adrenalin, he probably didn't know. We really need to get out of here."

Now she felt worse. "But no hospital."

"No." He simply said and then asked, "Were are we?"

For a second Carter thought he had lost his mind, until she remembered he'd been out-of-it, bouncing around the back of an ambulance for nearly an hour. "About twenty miles up the Hutchinson River Parkway."

"Good. We have a safe-house nearby."

"What about that mercenary?" Carter motioned to Mathison.

"Bring him." He was looking forward to it...

* * *

"Report."

"Sir, Lieutenant Mathison's ambulance has crashed."

"What! Any survivors?"

"Unknown. We couldn't go back. There were already two cars at the scene. Same ones that took out the protection details."

"Who the fuck are these people?! Get to the clinic and get back!"

"Sir we're receiving chatter that there's a road block up ahead."

"Abandon the ambulances and find another way. Whatever it takes, but get it done!"

"Yes Major."

* * *

Reese pushed the car harder than he knew he should. The engine was shot, literally, and he worried a tire might blow any second. Finch needed more attention and the safe house would be fully stocked. That included another car in the garage.

Carter's yelling distracted him. "Are you kidding me..! How..? Shit!" John looked her direction, not needing to wait before she hastily filled him in.

"They ditched the ambulances before the road block. Everything was empty by the team got there." She pursed her lips working her jaw.

"They're still heading to the clinic."

"John, we found missing person's cases - a lot of them - one was an ex-solider; the only thing recovered was his arm. And guess which river that was. If there's a clinic nearby..."

Reese caught her eyes in the rearview, "but if we're wrong it'll be too late."

"You have any other ideas?"

"Yeah. Beat it out of the Mercenary soon as he wakes up." Reese rubbed his forehead in frustration knowing they were running out of time. "Carter.., check Harold's shoulder. Make sure the bleeding's stopped."

She warily watched John, noting his uncomfortable mannerisms as she slide over behind Harold. "How about you?"

"Had worse." He answered too quickly.

"Sure." She huffed, no longer expecting a straight answer. "His shoulder's better."

Carter jumped, "Try properties owned by Trans Global." Harold blearily offered.

"Finch! How're you feeling?"

"Tired and not quite as numb as I'd like." He groaned. "Mr. Reese, glad to have you back. Where are we?"

Finch was lethargic, but seemed, thankfully more lucid. "About three minutes from the Pelham safe house. You feel up to some work?"


	27. Chapter 27

As their safe houses went, this one was a class three, which meant fully stocked medically, weapons wise, and had a ready to roll vehicle. A quick perimeter check and thorough room-sweep, and Reese felt comfortable enough, "All clear!" to let Carter and Fusco bring Finch inside.

A brown leather couch provided them a convenient place to gently guide and set Harold. Carter had his laptop under her arm, but wore a look of troubled doubt when she laid it on the table. "Finch? I'm no computer expert..., but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the bullet hole's no good."

Finch scrunched his face and shook his head at the damage, unfortunately reminded of his own damage. "Agh... There... There should be another computer in the office desk."

"Okay, hang in there. Be back in a sec."

"Carter. I'm gonna go keep on eye on Sleeping Beauty, outside." Fusco called to Carter as she disappeared around the corner. "Not that I think he's gonna move anytime soon. Knowing your boy's quality of work..." He declared.

Finch had no idea what Mr. Fusco was talking about.

* * *

Reese stalked down the hall, his arms were precariously loaded with medical supplies, and his mind, a million miles away, when he almost collided with Carter. "Whoa!" She jumped to the side. "John...sorry." She didn't know what else to say at the awkward moment. "Ah, Finch said there's a new laptop in the office?"

"Last room down the hall." John moved to continue when Carter's hand stilled him.

"I'm.. I'm glad you're ok. I didn't get to say that earlier."

His blank stare suddenly, and irrationally, infuriated her. "You know that was pretty risky, infiltrating the underground compound. Alone."

He knew that look... "It worked out..." He coyly offered, trying to avoid the inevitable, albeit deserved, upbraid.

She laughed with a look of disbelief. "Yeah? Well see.., that just makes me _sure_ I don't want to know what you're idea of _NOT working out, _is." She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw trying very hard to reel in what she wanted to let loose.

"Joss, what's wrong?"

Oh... don't go there... she chastised, but she couldn't contain it all. "Dammit John, really? What's wrong?" She met his concerned look. "You go off, all half-cocked, without telling anyone your plan, almost get yourself captured and served on a silver platter - to some deranged, organ-stealing hack! Mean while.., I'm committing national treason by hijacking a government satellite, so Finch and I can then play road-warrior down the middle of a populated town! To save your ass!" She regretted the last part the moment she'd said it.

John reached out, gently cupping her cheek, hoping to offer her some comfort and slow her tirade. "Carter. I can't apologize for what I did. This is what I do, and what I meant when I warned you about the hazards of this life. Of my life. Finch and I knew what we were signing up for, but you didn't. And for that I _am_ sorry."

Fuck! Carter closed her eyes taking a deep breath and moment to collect her thoughts. "I know. I do - at least a part of me does. It's just... sometimes it's hard to keep things in perspective. Especially afterward. After the rush. I just get so angry about feeling useless, powerless, and... scared. I'm sorry." She put her hand over his and pressed into his palm. "But you're wrong. I did sign up for this, remember? It's just gonna take me some time to get used to it."

A sad smile spread to his lips. "You're not the only one that feels that way Joss. And I hope you never get_ used to it_..." The last thing he wanted, was for her to become like him.

Confusion was quickly replaced with dawning understanding and appreciation. She smiled, truly looking at him, standing there in his destroyed tuxedo. He was amazing, still so handsome even thrashed and dirty. No.., _especially because of it, _ she realized. God.., how she wished, right then, they were a million miles away from everything. "You'd better go take care of Finch, I need to find that laptop."

She moved passed him. "Carter?" She turned back, her soulful eyes hanging on his next words. "Don't ever change..." What else could he say that hadn't already been said, felt and feared. She was here because of him, his work, and that had put her in danger and frayed her moral fiber. But he doubted he could ever keep her from it. If he tried, she would fight back as fiercely as she did in every aspect of her life - of that he was certain.

* * *

Reese emerged from the hall painfully sitting to Finch's left and unceremoniously dumping the pile of supplies. "I need to take care of that, might hurt, Harold." He added with remorse. "Here. Have some water.., but slowly."

Partly to distract Finch and partly for himself, Reese started a recap of their information. "We know they're headed to some clinic not far from here, and based on Carter's files.., assume it's on the Hutchinson river. Hopefully I can get more from Mathison, sooner than later."

Finch frowned in question. "Sorry. One of the mercenary Lieutenants we captured from the ambulance. Fusco's got him in the back of his car."

"I may have a..., less challenging, way for you to get an address. I found many properties owned or leased by TGS, including the site of the weapons event. We should be able to narrow it down. Ow!"

"Sorry..." John apologetically cringed, but continued his ministrations until the slightest creak from the porch had his gun out, cocked and aimed.

"WHOA! Easy!" Fusco panted. "Just me! Wanted to know if we had a plan yet?"

Reese took a second to breath. The quick movement had strained his injuries, and pissed him off as well. "How's the prisoner?"

"Still out. Think that melon-sized bump on his head might have something to do with that."

"Let me know the second he comes around." John dismissively said while scrutinizing his handy-work. "Ok Finch, best I can do here. You have pain meds with you?"

"Breast pocket." John turned to pull a couple from the discarded suit jacket just as Carter entered with the predicted laptop.

"Bet you have as many computers as John has guns." She chuckled and set it in his lap.

"A disturbing thought." Finch spared a quick glance at Reese who made every attempt to look insulted. "Okay..." He rapidly set to work. "Here, an outpatient clinic off Columbian and on the river. Owned by Trans Global Services."

"Pretty certain organ transplants aren't a quick in-n-out procedure." Carter ironically stated.

"No, but harvesting what they need would be." Reese stood, offering Finch a hand. "Only one way to find out."


	28. Chapter 28

Dead. Every one of them.

Pools of blood spread from the heads of four bodies dropped in the parking lot like forgotten trash. There was no evidence of a fight. Their positions suggested they'd been caught off guard and executed, two shots to the head, right where they stood.

Reese crouched low, pressed against one of the three cars the mercenaries had apparently stolen, and checked for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find. Carter and Fusco shook their heads to indicated the same findings. "Finch, four of the mercenaries are dead. You're sure these cameras and security systems are down?"

"Half way there. The camera's are looped, so baring actual eyes, they haven't seen you. I'm still working on disabling the security system... I haven't encountered anything quite like this..."

"I'd be willing to bet it's something from WAR, but hurry we're almost there."

"That.., is not helpful Mr. Reese. I'm assuming there's no sign of our numbers among the casualties?"

"No, they've got to be inside along with the rest of the Mercs."

"There! Okay Mr. Reese, I've got control now."

Reese motioned to both Detectives to follow him, staying close to the building's wall. The clinic was a long, single story white-brick rectangle. Nothing stood out about the place, except that fact. It was ignorable, overlooked by everyone unless it was needed.

They worked their way to the back, moving along the rough stone and leaving the massacre behind, but not the obvious question. How had four, highly trained mercenaries been so easily surprised and killed? Not one gun had been drawn.

John turned, speaking in a hushed voice, "Once we're in, we stay tight, no telling how many men this psycho's got. Finch, you have eyes inside yet?"

"What are we gonna do if they've got an army?" Fusco always seemed to give voice to the collective concerns.

"We have the element of surprise. Stick to your suppressed weapons, until there's no choice to use the others." Reese looked at Carter busy scanning the area. She was already well versed in bunker style infiltration scenarios and had her _game-face_ in place, looking almost comfortable. He inwardly smiled. "Stay tight, sight around corners low, and don't move unless one of us has cleared it."

"Still think we should be storming the place with tact-teams."

"Worried Fusco?" John peered around the corner. "Clear."

"Damn right I'm worried." He huffed in a whispered moving to catch up.

"Well unless you have a better plan, this is what we've got and we're out of time."

"Mr. Reese the locks are open for the next twenty seconds."

"Copy Finch. Ok. Let's move."

* * *

The sickly sterile smell of antiseptics and bleach overpoweringly hit the three as they entered the rear door. The building was easily two hundred feet long, had minimal lighting and no discernible activity. "Talk to me Finch."

"The blueprints show ten rooms along the westside and eight to the east, with two double-size rooms in the center, that I can only guess are operating theaters. There are cameras in the west rooms, but only in a few to the east. What I can see appears empty, but I'm afraid the darkness precludes me from being certain." Finch finished.

"Then where the hell is everyone?" Carter asked.

"Good question." Reese signaled them to start with the first room on the left.

On three, Fusco yanked open the door allowing Reese to sweep in followed by Carter.

A single exam table set against one wall, a computer desk at the other, and a chair was all that filled the space. Nothing. The river reflected what few lights this part of town offered and added a peripheral movement that put the team on greater edge.

The room across the hall was the same. Nothing more than any standard hospital room, bed, bathroom and a chair. For three more rooms they systematically searched, finding no variance, perpetrators or signs of their numbers.

Until the fifth.

They entered, same as the other four, but this time there were no sterile, white walls glowing despite the low light, or empty floor spaces. This time, the center of the floor was dark, sticky and covered in a thick puddle that stretched up walls spattered in high velocity spray. Laying in the middle were the other four, awkwardly piled, mercenaries.

Reese and Carter knelt beside the closest, finding the same execution style head shots. John frowned. "The mercenaries wouldn't go down like this, not without a fight. They didn't trust this guy, so surprise is out too. They must have been drugged."

"Drugged how? They would have had to get close enough and hit them all at once. And what about the ones outside?"

"Hey guys... take a look at this." Fusco held out what he could only describe as a metallic bumblebee.

"It's a drone." John closed his eyes with sudden understanding.

"What?" Carter pushed.

"I saw them at the arms event can be remotely guided for surveillance or in this case, armed to deliver a small dose of drugs."

"So what? We find a big can of raid!?" Fusco's didn't bother hiding his irritation or alarm.

"Finch you hear that?"

"I heard Mr. Reese. I'm searching for the frequency they might be using. If I can generate enough interfere, I maybe able to prevent accurate control, but to do that I need them to use it first."

"What about the jammer?"

Finch slowly shook his head. "It was damaged too badly in the garage explosion to salvage. I only managed to save the communications hardware, and that's been quiet."

"John!" Carter yelled in a breathy whisper. She'd been standing watch at the door when she caught movement down the hall. "Three orderlies, with rifles, pushing gurneys just moved from a room across the hall into the last on the left. I think there where bodies on the gurneys!"

"Ok we finish clearing the rooms, work our way toward the end. I don't want any surprises from behind. Finch, we need eyes on those last rooms."

"I'm sorry Mr. Reese, if there are no cameras, there is nothing I can do."

"What about the bugs?" Carter asked.

"If I had the frequency, more time, and any of them were actually outfitted with a camera.., then perhaps." Finch had an idea. "I'm not sure how far the closest perp is, but try cloning one of their phones?"

Reese pulled out his cell and attempted a forced pair, but only Carter and Fusco's came up as options. "No, didn't work, Finch." He turned his attention back to his team. "They still don't know we're here, so lets keep moving."

"Please be careful." Harold cringed at his use of the utterly useless phrase. If only he could offer more assistance, but injured, hidden in Fusco's cruiser, with the unconscious soldier in the back seat, he was at a loss. Until they activated the drones, he'd have to wait and watch.

* * *

The search of another two rooms yielded little help to answer their mounting questions, but as they entered the first operating theater, it was clear what insidious plans were laid out.

The room was a large, aseptic space, burning their nostrils with the smell of chemicals and cold death. Everything was covered in sterile blue sheets, completely readied for the round of mutilating horrors, right down to the organ transport containers.

John inspected the row of containers, reading the specific body parts and the apparent names to whom they were destined. He pulled the one labeled 'Lungs - Stark/Denshire,' finding it empty with great relief. He shook his head to answer Fusco and Carter's horrified stares.

The three soundlessly moved to the scrub-room that adjoined the neighboring surgical suite, but froze with the sounds behind the door. Carter looked to the others, putting her hand the knob. One three, she yanked it open.

Reese's lightening fast reflexes dropped a gunman before he could do more than aim. Fusco jumped to the side, firing and hitting a man in blue scrubs with a Uzi. John hit the ground returning fire at two white-clade men busily emptying their silenced pistols in their direction.

Shots ricocheted dangerously close to Reese, forcing him to roll out of the line of fire. He came up in a low crouch, next to Fusco.

Fusco stole a glancing look at the far right of the theater. "I make two bad guys 1 and 2 o'clock."

"I got three more 10 o'clock! No friendlies!" Carter called out. Bullets whipped through the open door, keeping them pinned behind the wall.

"Stay down!" Reese yelled, jumping passed the door and sending three quick shots toward the far corner of the operating room. He landed hard, rolling next to Carter and pulling her down.

Deafening blasts instantly rocked the confines. One by one the row of oxygen tanks began exploding, sending twisted metal shrapnel in every direction.

Screams filled the room easily marking locations for Reese, Fusco and Carter to add to their attackers' misery and shoot the kneecaps of those stupid enough to lift a gun.

"NYPD! Drop your weapons." Carter and Reese moved in covering for Fusco as he kicked guns across the room and zip-tied the hands of the five remaining perps.

"Carter! Over here." Across the smoke-filled room Reese stood staring at the last, functioning, closed-circuit camera. It clearly displayed their four victims, prepped and strapped to gurneys. "Finch found our people."

"Are they alive?" A heavy thud suddenly spun the pair from the screen. "Fusco?"

"Carter look out!" Reese barely caught the movement in time to bat a flying object away from her shoulder as two more darted in for attack. The swirling smoked made predicting their path difficult. Reese grabbed Carter and yanked her against the wall behind an overturned table.

Shielded from the front and back, they had a better chance of staving off the incoming threats. "Finch, we have drones!"

"John!" Carter screamed just in time to divert a diving attack toward Reese's face. "Ow, shit!" She hissed and brought her hand to her mouth in a futile attempt to suck out the drugs she feared had been injected.

John was too busy swatting away two more dive-bombing drones to be able to check Carter. "Joss, are you ok?!"

The drones were nearly silent, swooping passed at speeds of at least 35 mph. "I... John...I can't feel my arm... anymo..."

"Mr. Reese I'm working on it! Hang on!" Finch held his breath in consuming concentration.

Reese felt Carter bonelessly slump against him. "Joss!" He slowed her fall just as he felt a painful jab to the back of his neck. "Finch, we've been hit by the drones. I'm not sure how long I... have. It's... fast acting. Finch... I..."

His vision began to fad, but he could still make out the main door opening and four, maybe five, lab-coated men enter. With his last, uncoordinated reserves, he emptied his clip into whoever was dumb enough to approach. "Finc..."

* * *

Finch listened to the bloodbath playing out before him. A sudden explosion obliterated any clear understanding, limiting his interpretations to screams landing rubble. At first it seemed his friends had prevailed, hearing Fusco issuing the NYPD warning to drop their weapons, and Reese say they'd found their numbers, but too soon the new threat arose. "Finch we have drones!"

With unfaltering skill, Finch searched through the spectrum of frequencies, trying in desperate vain to unlock how the wireless data was formatted and being transmitted. If he could hack the DATA line he would be able to gain enough control to at least interrupt the signal. Unfortunately the frequency was on a rolling code and Finch didn't have the time to crack the algorithm before he heard both Mr. Reese and Carter get struck by the drones.

Finch's heart frantically pounded as he heard the quick succession of gunfire. Then nothing.

"Mr. Reese? John?!"

Despite his weakened condition Finch contemplated his options for a desperate attempt to rescue his friends. What could _he_ do? It didn't matter, he just had to try!

Harold stiffened. The heated breath of a growled whisper sent sudden shards of freight coursing through his body. "Who the hell are you?" The deadly and very much awake mercenary shifted in back seat of Fusco's cruiser. Finch awkwardly turned to face the man, immediately seeing the boiling rage as the man's eyes locked on the bodies laying in the parking lot.

"You're gonna pay for killing my men!"


	29. Chapter 29

"Ah you are awake. Don't look so worried. No... I haven't harmed them - yet. You are alive for one simple reason. Information. They, are alive as tools for me to _get_ that information. I want to know who you are, why you're here, and how you found out about my operation."

The tall, grey-haired man moved beside Reese. John strained against the straps that held him and the cobwebs that clouded his mind.

"Cops..," The man motioned toward the unmoving bodies also strapped to exam tables, that John could only assume were Carter and Fusco. "..I get, _'protect and serve'_ bla bla bla.., though I find it odd that they would have come here alone, without backup, and would be playing second fiddle to whoever you are. How is it that you came to infiltrate my organization?" The man walked around to Reese's other side. "I surmise this location will no longer work for me now. Pity." He off-handedly remarked.

Reese throw an unfocused glare at the man, trying to envision the ten fastest ways he could kill the _talking blur_ and clear the swimming fog from his brain.

"Oh! Where are my manners. Welcome to my little house of horrors; my name is Dr. White, CEO and owner of both W.A.R. and Trans Global Serves Inc. Despite our best attempts, we have yet to figure out who you are.

You're clearly not a cop, not government... since there's no record of you. Which in itself is impressive; my resources are quite vast. You intrigue me to say the least and have me at a disadvantage that I'm not accustomed to.

I must admit this is an interesting and impressive turn of events, an utter thrill, to have a mystery guest circumvent all of my failsafes and security measures. And an inspiration, if you will.., for me to rework my entire construct and cleanse it of the _weak links._

Well.., back on topic. I'm afraid you've caused me quite a bit of trouble. I'm now short one donor, resulting in one unhappy and soon, dead client."

Slowly, the pasty, pale and sunken face of the mid-sixties doctor cleared into focus. Reese could now make out the anally groomed mustache overwhelming the gaunt face that dripped with pompous superiority and sick detachment as he went on as if chatting about the weather.

John kept silent and hid his growing disdain, but more importantly, he needed to draw this out, so the drugs could wear off. The only thing he had going for him was the fact that this guy knew nothing about him and seemed bent on getting answers.

"Interesting. No questions, no fear, no concern? So then... would I be correct in speculating that you've been in _unique _situations before? Well now, that just makes you a more interesting challenge.

I can't imagine a foreign government smart enough to have discovered me... so perhaps something closer to home? A disgruntled employee? No - they are always _properly_ taken care of.

Ahhhhh, then something even more fascinating - a spy, intent on corporate espionage or an assassin hired by competition? Both?"

Reese thought he'd push back, see what shook loose. In his calm, yet imposing whisper, "Your illegal weapons sales and organ trafficking days are at an end. And you can call me Mr. Reese." That got a reaction, Reese noted the split second falter of the smile, slight shift of body position and the visible swallow before he collected himself again. So he _was _worried.

"Interesting choice of words, _'illegal' _weapons sales... No, I don't think your fingers are as far-reaching as you'd have me believe. I peg you for a former government trained assassin, no doubt, hired by one of my many 'blackmailees,' who foolishly think they can end our contract prematurely. That's just poor business."

The tall man paced a wide circle, billowing his white coat behind him as he returned fondling a few barbaric looking surgical tools. "What's this world coming to? On the off-chance that our officers here, have imparted any details to the department.., I'll be bumping up my departure schedule. Of course, not before I'm finished with you." His bony fist jabbed down, impaling the shiny surgical tool deeply into Reese's thigh.

Reese suppressed the scream, grinding it between anger and hate, until it came out as a threatening growl. This was exactly what he needed to override the drugs. He laughed and bit out, "You're so used to playing God, you think you know everything. That you're safe and the NYPD is your concern? The real question you should be asking, is who else knows about you and how far are they willing to go to get you."

The lanky, scarecrow of a man was obviously rattled by Reese's words. "I see that a tough son-of-a-bitch like yourself, actually enjoys a bit of torture, so how about we see if you like watching as much."

John's heart seized, his eyes following the man hover between Carter and Fusco as skilled hands chose a long trocar from a surgical table.

Reese yanked on his restrains, his muscles still lacked strength and responded with slow and sluggish coordination. "Dead or alive - the deal stands!" John suddenly blurted out, stopping the man just as he raised the tool.

"What deal? Tell me!" But the man's phone interrupted Reese's bluffing outburst.

Dr. White's previously pale complexion grew ruddy with obvious fury. His eyes locked on Reese's as he ended the call. "So your 'deal...' is not just with the NYPD? Because they just stormed my weapons show and arrested fifty of my best clients. My reputation will be ruined!"

He stalked in long strides filled with hateful intent, stopping just beside Reese. "Normally I'd never damage a perfectly good heart, you have any idea how much they're worth? $160k, plus another $650k to perform the transplant, but in your case I'll enjoy the exception. Who else is involved?"

"Someone who won't stop until a monster like you, is ended."

"Monster?!" The Doctor raised the sharp weapon over Reese's chest then paused. "You know, I was providing a great service to those in need. People needlessly die everyday waiting for that life saving organ. I cut out all the bureaucratic red-tape that gums up those lives. I omitted all that, I gave them the miracle they needed while ridding the world of unwanted scum in the process. And only in exchange for some services. How is that wrong? How does that make me the monster?!"

"You're not God."

"Oh give me a break! There's no way you made it this far if you're really that naïve of a boy scout!"

"And your weapon sales? How do you justify all those deaths?" Reese continued slowly working his wrist restraints and trying to buy time he knew was running out.

"I don't need to justify it. People have been fighting and killing each other since the beginning of time. It's human nature and always will be. I'm just nurturing the human condition. Besides, WAR is just the supporting income for my true calling and gift to humanity. WAR happened to be the perfect resource to procure my needed body parts."

Reese cringed at the twisted explanation. "How did you get access to the top-secret weapons."

"So you'd have me divulge all my trade secrets..? A dying man's wish? Very well, hell won't care...

One of my clients, a US defense contractor, is walking around today because I gave that alcoholic fool a new liver. In exchange, I get the latest advanced weapons plans.

A Japanese national, who happens to own a very accomplished military hardware and software company, had a very sick little girl. I'm happy to say the little girl now has a long and healthy life ahead of her, and her Daddy, gladly turns those plans into reality - producing anything I need.

Thirdly, but far from the last, is the US General sporting two new lungs thanks to me. Through him, I get unfettered access to all the military and government medical databases. More than I need. Of course as you know, I choose carefully, those lesser honest, ex-soldiers or axed government agents, the losers no one will miss. There are lots of them! Simply put. I dangle the biggest bait WAR has to offer and watch the flies swarm to honey. I don't even have to lift a finger, they come, and the mercenaries deliver them perfectly intact."

Dawning suddenly made the doctor stand with ram-rod straightness. "Was it that damn Mercenary?! You're working with him!"

The doctor clenched his fists. "You know what? I don't need you anymore. Just one more loose end to take care of before I leave... I'm going to enjoy dissecting that inept Major Keel. Even take back what's mine from his sister!" The cadaverous man spit his threatening vows as he drew the pointed instrument up over John's chest, then looked him in the eye... "Pity..." and plunged the thick instrument down toward Reese's heart.

Reese powerlessly flexed against the straps and braced for the incoming pain...


	30. Chapter 30

The psychotic doctor plunged the thick instrument toward Reese's heart. John powerlessly flexed against the straps and inevitable pain. But it wasn't his scream or blood that spilled from his chest.

The deranged cry of dumbfounded shock and fury erupted from the vengeful doctor as the instrument shot across the room along with the blood from two stumps where his fingers used to be.

The Doctor hugged his mutilated hand to his white-coated chest and spun around with blind rage.

"Still think I'm inept, you skinny, fucking prick!" Major Keel lowered his pistol and crossed the room in ground pounding steps. "Get on you knees! Hands.., what's left of em'.., behind your head!" He almost laughed.

"My hand! You idiot, I'm a doctor! What have you done!" The Doctor's shrill whimpering both annoyed and entertained the heavily built, older man. "Pussy... That's what your worried about? Those days were over regardless." Enough was enough. "Shut-up!" With that Keel pistol-whipped White into unconscious silence.

Satisfied with the butcher's forced compliance, Keel made his way to Reese. "So you're the guy that kicked my guys' asses and blew this nightmare to hell? Can't say I appreciate the first part, but it was a fair fight and they'd have killed you just the same. Anyway, you certainly don't deserve to die at the hands of this freak."

Reese flinched as the broad man moved in, pulling a knife and sliced through the leather straps holding his hands and feet. "Major Keel, former US Army, gone private... A million years ago. You're what..? Ex-Delta Force? Black Ops? Disappeared and went private?"

Reese swung his legs over the edge of the table and chewed on the unexpected, yet fortunate turn of events and evaluated his circumstantial ally with a weary handshake. "Reese. Ex-Special Forces, Black-Ops... gone... _other. _And thanks."

"Hey, enemy of my enemy, ya know the bullshit... Actually it's me who needs to thank you. You gave this old bastard the kick in the balls I needed to do what I should have in the beginning. And dammit! I just can't get over that this sick-fuck was the head of WAR too. Thought they were entirely different entities and just figured the Death Dealer had something hanging over WAR like he did me." He paused for a moment just staring at the doctor sprawled at his feet. "This piece of diabolical shit had my balls in a sling for way too long, and when Lt Mathison told me what he'd done to our men...well, that was enough. I already thanked your partner."

Reese cast a dangerous look of warning and flexed at the mention of Finch. "Easy there, he's fine. He's the reason we're here actually.., let the Lieutenant radio-in and order the strike."

Not as steadily as he would have liked, Reese stood and moved to check Carter and Fusco. "How many men did Mr. White have?"

"We took down seven more, to your already damn good dent. My men are sweeping the cracks for any roaches that might be left."

John relaxed a bit, both relieved to find Joss and Lionel drugged, but unharmed and, after the last few days.., honestly glad he wasn't facing another battle. "What did he have over you?"

Reese observed the dark resolve grip Keel's face. "Had to save someone... and traded a piece of my soul, to this devil, to do it." He roughly kicked the doctor with his boot. "I didn't know the details at first. Can't say I looked to close either. That's not an excuse.., just the truth. Hated myself ever since."

Reese understood that more than he wanted to acknowledge. "Yeah I got that your men weren't happy about the deal either."

Major Keel caught the haunted shadows playing across John's eyes. "No, but they're good guys, and did what I asked." The Major shifted his stance. "So what now?"

Reese leveled him with a dark stare. "Leave. We'll take care of him. Get you're men, and don't come back."

"Fair enough." Keel turned to leave and paused. "Ya know son, whatever it is that you did in the past.., it's just that - past. Keep doing what you're doing and let it go. Life is too damn short not to be true to your gut. Not sure if you realized the true scope of what you guys did here today. God speed solider."

Reese looked down at Carter and knew all to well...


	31. Chapter 31

A few days later...

* * *

"I can't believe you did that Finch!"

"Mr. Reese, it wasn't like I had the luxury of time or rather, you didn't."

"Come on. It's because you've changed your opinion. You're actually coming around..."

"You're one to talk. I'm not seeing overt openness on your part, Mr. Reese"

"Touche. But admit it... you brought Detective Carter to the library! I think you're loosening up, Finch."

"Okay, Mr. Reese. I trust the Detective, but I don't think that means I'm going to publish an autobiography of my life."

"I didn't say that."

Finch shifted the uncomfortable topic to one he knew would put his friend off-balance. "I guess now that you've established my feelings for the Detective... the next step would be to figure out yours."

That halted Reese's playful badgering. "Cat got you're tongue Mr. Reese?" Finch always enjoyed turning the tables on his, sometimes irritating partner, though admittedly, this was an issue he had wanted to bring up several times; the right moment just never seemed to presented itself. Until now.

A quiet moment stretched between the two when Reese stoically offered, "I admire, respect and value the Detective."

"You aren't the only one adept at spotting subterfuge Mr. Reese." Seeing right through his attempted detachment.

John swallowed back a large gulp of beer and leaned deeply into his chair. Maybe he was just the right mix of tired, relaxed and buzzed to actually have this conversation. "I guess I do have deeper feelings for Joss. I just don't think I should expose her to this life, more than she already is. Look what happened. Again..."

"Well, I can understand that. Leaving Grace was the single hardest thing I've ever had to do. There isn't a day goes by I don't question my decision, though. My assumption and fear that something might hurt her because of me, in essence, happened for that very reason." Reese craned around to look directly at Harold.

"I hurt her. I thought she would move on, forget me and find happiness. She still attends grief counseling and has yet to even talk to another man." Harold took a drink and closed his eyes. "Are we wrong to be the ones to decide? I mean, decide alone?" He looked at Reese in question. "At that moment it was so clear. Hide, slip away and stay dead to protect Grace. Now? I'm just not sure it was the only option or most fair one."

John listened with riveted interest and surprise to hear Finch so openly sharing his innermost feelings. "Do you think Grace would understand? Forgive you?"

Finch looked at Reese for the longest time. "I'm not sure. Or if she even should. Someone like her, so pure, so honest... she deserves more than someone who'd lie to her, hurt her and steal her happiness from her."

Harold's words cut to the heart of his own fears and worries. Yet to hear him say it, Reese feel like he wanted to tell Harold he was wrong. That he was being overly hard on himself, that he was a good man and only did what he did to protect someone he loved. But he couldn't say the words. "So maybe there's no such thing as _happily ever after_ for guys like us?"

They both sat, for at least half a beer's worth of contemplative silence, before Finch spoke. "You know, if Grace knew as much as Carter... it might have been different. I might have given her the choice to decide the next step. She didn't yet, so my decision was predicated on that fact."

"So your saying since I've already put Carter at risk, why hold back now?" John leaned forward, arms on his legs.

"No, I'm saying since the Detective chose to be an equal partner in some respects of your life, you should allow her the same opportunity in others." Finch knew what Reese was thinking and added, "As I see it... Unless you pointed a gun to her head Mr. Reese, she willingly inserted herself into the fold."

Bracing his ribs, Reese got up and walked to their glass board, idly flicking the five photos of the last numbers. "I just don't know if I can handle something happening to her because of me."

"John, I'm not sure she would see it quite like that. Joss Carter is not the kind of woman you could expect to thrive, kept in a protective bubble. She chose the military and to become a cop well before you entered her life. Her nature is to seek out and end violence. I don't believe your presence or absence would change her nature or course of her life."

Finch got up and limped beside Reese, pulling the photos off their board. "None of us want to lose someone we hold dear. But whether you keep that person near or far, it will not diminish the fact that it will hurt if we were to lost them. How near is of course up to you, but if I know the Detective at all, I'd say trying to keep her at a distance, insulated or safeguarded, would be far more dangerous to you both."

John looked at Harold. "What the hell did she do to you?" He laughed in amazement at Finch's insightful openness.

"I saw her defining drive. For better or worse, she won't be changed." Reese could only stand there and blink.

The echoing of heels accompanied by Bear's happy tap-dance effectively put an end their conversation.

Carter rounded the corner carrying a large pizza box. She suspiciously eyed the number of missing beers in their twelve-pack. "Damn, couldn't even wait for a girl to get here?"

John smoothly took the box, "Hello Detective." and offered her a freshly opened beer. "We were weak..."

Finch sheepishly agreed adding an apologetic smile.

"I can see that. Long as there's a couple left with my name on it..." She brought the sweating bottle to her lips and didn't bother hiding the sheer appreciation of its frothy coldness slipping down her throat. "So you guys have _serious-face_. What's going on now? New case already?"

"Nothing." John answered far to quickly, wondering where the hell all his finely honed covert skills had just gone.

"Hi, I'm DETECTIVE Carter.., guess we haven't met before?" She sarcastically stated.

"Mr. Reese was just informing me about my apparent _'loosening up'_ and evolving social nature."

"Okaaaaay." She eyed them both. "Loosening into _what,_ exactly?" She looked at John as she sat and grabbed a slice pizza. "Piping hot, deep dish, spinach mushroom..." She sing-songed.

"Into a more _trusting_ 'paranoid-reclusive-computer genius'..." Reese grinned at Harold.

"Or maybe into a lone-wolf, consequences-be-damned, superhero?" Carter flashed him a toothy smirk between mouth fulls. "You should have seen him. He was pretty fearless smashing into those Merc trucks and holding his own against their attacks. _Mad_ driving skills by the way, Harold. Even got a sexy battle scar." She winked.

"Why thank you Detective." He gave a slight bow, grimacing with the motion and took both a slice and a seat. "Though I'm not sure how '_sexy_' the battle scar feels at the moment."

"So how goes our _victim's_ processing and Lionel's commendations?" Reese strategically steered the conversation well away from his and Finch's earlier one.

"Mmmm," Carter swallowed her bite, licking the sauce from her lips. "Those anonymous files.., thank you Finch.., are going to go a long way to get our five perps convicted. The FBI's weapons trafficking dept. is all a-buzz about Fusco nabbing Erinson. I think they just about fell out of their chairs when we handed them Boyd and Stark too. Interpol is sending someone for Sinclair as we speak. And Canada's sending down some RCMP boys to haul Trent's butt back north. And... Fusco left for Hawaii with his son this morning." She smiled, truly happy for her partner.

"Hawaii... to hot." Reese complained.

Carter laughed at his obvious jealousy. "I'm assuming your _errand_ went well?" Where John stashed the nastiest of their villains was no longer a mystery to her.

"It did and went much faster with the jet... They were pleased to be receiving the notorious child trafficking doctor."

"Child trafficking, Mr. Reese?" Finch frowned.

Reese raised his eyebrows in absolute innocence. "Helps to insure _proper_ treatment of the prisoners... What can I say, I'm an advocate of prisoner's rights."

Carter almost humphed a drink of beer out her nose. "Oh my God, John! You know.., one day your _'Arkham Asylum_' is gonna spring a leak and come back on you."

"Didn't know you were a Batman fan, Carter."

"Yeah well... lotta' things you don't know about me. Always been a sucker for the tall, dark and brooding hero types." She coyly grinned into her beer.

Finch leaned back, savoring the calm and rare moment to catch their breath. A broad smile covered his face, not to mention he was thoroughly enjoying the entertainment...

* * *

The End... But the numbers never stop coming... Watch for team's next adventure.


End file.
